When the Pen Flows

Family Reunion

2010-04-30T15:58:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time there was a little girl in a blue dress with a white collar and three pearl buttons. Her name was Emily. She went as a wondering child to a family reunion full of strangers more marvelous and varied than any she had read in storybooks. Familiar characters had no appeal for her in this vast room, dressed up by tablecloths and her imagination into a party room equaling the dance floor on which the Prince had first swept Cinderella off her feet. This little heroine could have been anywhere in the world, but she was in a community building in a little town in Oklahoma. The attendants could have been royalty or fairies, but they were peasants, who are far less ordinary and certainly not plain.

A certain man with dark hair and tall boots walked across the room. From her perch amid silk flowers and lace-packaged soap favors, Emily watched his legs bend madly at the knees, cutting his height by a third whenever he took a step. If this distant relative had been all in black, he would look just like the man on the cover of her book. She looked longingly across the rows of round tables to one long, cloth-covered rectangle piled high with wrapped books of all shapes and sizes, waiting for the book exchange amusement scheduled after lunch. There was one large book in familiar paper which Emily’s sister Jana had discovered. Mom had wrapped up their nursery rhyme collection to give away, the one with the endless pages of strange pictures and dim poems!

Emily took another bite of the last butterfly cracker on her plate, savoring the crisp buttery flavor. She and Jana were determined to retrieve their beloved book, more desired now than ever before. They longed to turn the pages again, to laugh at the funny man with the knobby knees who looked like a cousin of the man laughing across the room. Except his cousin might actually be her. What an odd world!

For lunch Emily had punch, carefully sipped to avoid staining her new dress, and a pickle, and more crackers. Mom was there for the important moments of filling her plate. Whether at other times Mom was distracted with all the people or it was Emily who was paying no attention to her family is hard to say. An aunt belonging to her father’s mother said something to Emily’s parents, then turned awkwardly to the little girls, to whom she felt obligated to condescend. Somehow she knew they were from Texas, and grasping for anything to say, reported first that her son’s girlfriend was from Texas, and said, “Bah, bah.” “Do you say ‘bah bah’?” she asked the confused sisters. Jana, the younger, played with her food and ignored the aunt. Emily, unsure how to explain that she was not a sheep though from Texas, politely shook her head and let out only the inkling of a shy smile.

Focus on her lunch resumed, Emily bit into the bright green pickle and puckered. This was not what she expected! What tortuous vegetable disguised as a pickle had found its way onto her plate? The bite-sized wrinkled thing with a stem tasted nothing like the hamburger pickles she ate nearly every week and at Wendy’s on the way to Oklahoma. Seeing her disgust, Grandma realized that Emily did not favor sweet pickles, and quietly reassured her she didn’t have to eat it. The wide woman on the other side of Grandma offered to consume the rest of the unwanted food, and Emily watched her curiously, surprised that anyone could relish the experience.

With more good conversation and less attention to the ages of her audience, the same woman continued to talk to the two little girls, admiring the lace trimming the skirts of their matching dresses and discussing pickles, carrots, and broccoli, proceeding to a discussion of other foods that didn’t agree with her and their results. Disinterested, Emily focused instead on the rosebuds carved into the frame of the loud woman’s glasses.

When she had finished her lunch, Emily got permission to color, just like she did while sitting quietly in church. Up on her knees to lean over the table, Emily tilted her head to concentrate on drawing a self-portrait to which she added glasses. The likeness was so strained that no one would guess the identity of the girl on the paper. For one thing, her hair stretched to the sky: the only way Emily had conceived to portray her long brown locks. A young cousin passed by and cruelly teased the art on this point before sharing a secret to three-dimensional-drawing. “Draw the hair down like this,” she explained.

Before the recovering and grateful Emily could practice, the game began. Each child in the family had a ticket, and in order they each chose a book and tore off the paper to exclaim over the secret contents. Emily sat on the edge of her seat. She eyed a prettily wrapped book on the edge of the pile. Should she give up their book, and get something new? Jana’s gaze was fastened on the book of rhymes, lest she forget which one was their coveted prize. No; if Emily was called first, she would choose that one, and ensure that it returned safely to their home. Each time another little boy or girl chose, the sisters leaned forward and held their breath. “Don’t choose that one,” they thought, and trembled with relief as the others picked the smaller books. Emily breathed deeply when she was summoned to pick a book. Confidently choosing the largest one there, she brought it back to her lap.

Though selected next, Jana could not be coerced into choosing a book. She was angry with Emily for picking her book, and didn’t understand that it was theirs to share. Emily had secured the book for their family. Jana could share. But Jana, who was too young to be consoled with logic and assurance, remained ungrateful. Emily tried to ignore her. When she turned away, Grandma and Mom were both asking why she had chosen the book they brought from home. Didn’t they understand? They thought she was silly, that maybe she hadn’t realized she could choose any book. She had the prize she wanted, and hugged it tightly against her dress.

While grown-ups retrieved purses and hats and finished making plans for the afternoon, Emily and Jana, who had given up naps the past spring, sat quietly enjoying the pages of their beloved book. Jana, won by the patience of her sister in offering to share the book, was considerably appeased. They laughed at the cow shown mid-jump above the moon, and asked each other questions about the three round-faced men sailing in a wooden shoe among the stars.

After an hour at a park in the sunshine in which wiggles were released and solitude embraced, Mom and Dad and Emily and Jana visited the reunion reprise, in a dark noisy parlor belonging to a busy but happy woman and her equally funny husband. He told jokes that must have been funny, since all the parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles laughed. There were less children at this party, and Emily was tired of company. She felt very unimportant, and sat accordingly in a corner, where she met the lady.

The lady had white hair, by which Emily knew she was very old, because even Grandma only had a little bit of white in her hair. She was slender because she had never been married and never had babies. But she was kind to children, and laughed like one not yet worn out by the rambunctious children in the world. Her lips curved in a pleasant smile, and her long hands held a plate full of olives. What childhood obsession had made the little black fruits a favorite, she couldn’t recall.

At first the woman just smiled her pity at the lonely child. Then she got an idea. The lady taught Emily a game. Glancing to ensure she had the girl’s attention, she stuck one olive onto her little finger, looked back at Emily, and then took a satisfied bite. Using the remaining olives as bait, she coaxed Emily to stand by her knees. Offered an olive herself, the little girl wrinkled up her nose. Two lonely girls, one old and one young, took turns in a corner: the child putting olives on fingers and the woman plucking them off with juice-darkened lips.

When the fruit was gone, Emily moved to the floor, where she saw a collection of bells on a shelf. She wanted to touch the fragile crystal and ceramic. But bells make noise, and she didn’t want to get in trouble. Jana, joining her, was easily persuaded to be the one to test the bells. For their first choice they found a cow bell. The deep brass instrument was heavy, and made noise like dropping a plate on the floor. All the grown-ups noticed. Then the sisters got to sit in their grandparents’ laps.

Jana played with Grandma’s bead necklace and listened to her talking about cakes and pies and ovens that made the house too hot in the summer. Emily cuddled against Grandpa’s strong chest. Her mind was not much improved by discussions of market reports on grain. Gradually she began to wonder instead how he had lost his hair.

Mom and Dad’s voices combined with the aunts’ and uncles’ to form a quiet hum. A blend of sunset light and the rumble of the air conditioner made the room seem fuzzy. Emily’s head bounced once, and her eyelids lifted, fell, and rose again. Across the room Grandma shifted Jana so she was lying across her lap. The clock above the mantel ticked like footsteps on a sidewalk, like car doors opening and closing, like breathing when fast asleep.

To God be all glory.

Coral Wedding

2009-10-07T00:02:00.003-06:00

Amie traded her soft white t-shirt for a long white dress: capped sleeves, layers of fabric the texture of seafoam for the skirt, and a sash tied round her in an elaborate knot people called a bow. She was about to do the most disrespectful thing of her life, upsetting the small town world that had been her home all her days. In her mind there had never been any question about the marriage. And if it took until the actual ceremony for her parents to understand how serious she was, Amie’s will was enough to go through with it.

Bekah piled ringlets of Amie’s soft brown hair onto the crown of her head, letting a few representative rebel-curls take their independence down the side of her friend’s cheek. Maid of honor, Bekah was already dressed in the rich coral counterpart to Amie’s gown. The dresses were identical except for the length of their skirts and the color. A surreal scene met them in the mirror, neither girl excited or nervous, just going through the next step in the act that was set for them.

As down payment on the agreement they had made, Amie had possession of the groom’s keys, and they clinked in her hands. She criticized the reflection’s posture, and dared it to make eye contact with the world – a world that didn’t know what was coming, but ought, if it would only look anyone in the eye. Marriages in their little community were arranged. Nobody questioned it, and few worried about it. Theirs was not one of the customs of gross abuse, of marrying children to old men, or of beating wives who were unsatisfactory. Some cultures chose partners for their children from among the strangers in the wide world, but this town’s choices were mostly limited to the miniature metropolis of the few nearby villages and farms. Generally the couple had grown up together, and some had connived to be matched with their favorites.

Today was Amie’s wedding: the 13th of August. The groom was a good man, with strong attractive features, and a respected job sufficient to provide for a family. Named for his grandfather, Nicolas had been friends with Amie as long as he could remember. She went her own way, picking wild flowers in the morning and changing the oil in the family car during the afternoon. Her hair darted in curls behind her ears and over her shoulders. He’d grown enough in the last two years to be taller than her by two inches, and teased her about his new-gained height incessantly, repayment for years when she called him ‘shrimp’ and ‘dwarf.’ Once he had been ashamed to know that she disdained him. Today he was glad, and smiled to himself in the mirror.

Nick’s part of the arrangement was to book a hotel for after the wedding, a fact the whole town would have discussed by the commencement of the ceremony: which room, how expensive, how many nights. Only at that thought did a sigh escape him. Was it from the dent the terms put in his wallet, or from just a bit of wistfulness? Amie owed him. Even if all their childhood scores were erased, she would owe him for playing his part today. What a culture of obligation they lived in!

A church sanctuary filled with the couple’s neighbors, and Nick’s closest friends stood along one side of him, watching as each bridesmaid paced the aisle to the front. Finally Nick caught sight of Bekah, and his heart betrayed him. Amie was just behind her, a fairy likely to disappear with any sudden breath. Music Amie had picked for the occasion sang through the room. Bekah moved more quickly than normal, but Nick had expected that. He didn’t know exactly how Amie had planned the next part. “Line!” he yelled in a panic to his guys, who wore dress shirts a lighter peach counterpart to the bridesmaids. Nick pointed at the door behind the bride. The runaway turned her head to see them moving as one pale orange wall to bar the exit. Another door opened at the side of the chapel, one of the caterers there for the event holding it at the ready. Amie was much nearer the door than Nick, and Bekah had all her wits about her, leading her friend – who seemed almost to be holding the bridesmaid’s sash – to the door.

Those assembled gasped and began to cry out for something to be done, but it was too late. Nick ran out through the kitchen, after the girls, who were in his car, exactly as planned. He thought he saw Bekah wink from behind the wheel. As soon as they were gone, Amie’s father arrived at Nick’s back, a heavy balding man whose panting gave the younger man some concern. Offering his arm, the two turned back inside and sat at one of the tables clothed in apricot linen for the reception.

“Sorry,” Nick said first, and the patriarch eyed the boy with suspicion.

“She took your car.”

Nick nodded, realizing how obvious his guilt would be. The getaway was only possible because the girl had his keys. Still, no one would take better care of his car, he reassured himself.

Closer relatives handled the dismissal of the guests and helped with the clean-up. Untying bows wound about the aisle seats gave Nick time to think. Madness had overtaken him. Even if he’d changed his mind, there was no way locking Amie in the sanctuary would change hers. He should have pulled her aside and told her he really wanted to go through with the wedding, that he liked her well enough to spend an exciting lifetime together. Exciting. It would have been. He shook his head. The bigger madness was considering asking her back. Nick didn’t want to marry Amie any more than she was ready to marry him, and he was ashamed that he had almost cowed under the pressure of expectations.

Groomsmen and bridesmaids alike gave him pitying farewell glances. Hours after most of the guests had gone home, Nick set the box of haphazardly piled decorations in a chair and sat down beside them. People must have though he needed to be alone, because the room was empty.

Soft jingling came from his right, from the door by the kitchen. Had she jingled on the way out, too? Amie was back in her jeans and white T-shirt, hair still piled on her head, but drooping into the secondary style that told a story of adventure. Her head tilted as she extended the keys arm’s length towards him, still a bit out of reach. “Thanks,” Nick said, and sat up to grab them.

“Filled her up,” she replied. They looked at each other for a while, not needing any words to ascertain that the ordeal hadn’t been too bad yet, and that neither one had any lasting regrets.

Nick nodded. “You want to come over tonight?” he asked in his old friendly way. The question was symbolic. Nothing had changed, and there were no hard feelings.

In a step Amie was at his knees, tracing his arm towards the keys at his fingertips. Her mesmerizing eyes held his. “To your hotel?”

Nick arched his back to pull his face away from hers, and blushed. “That’s not what I…”

Amie laughed, standing erect. “After today, I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

The main doors into the foyer pushed open to let Amie escape. Every part of the plan was finished. Bekah had been dropped off at home, where Amie had changed back into street clothes. Nick had his keys, and the place was pretty much cleaned up. Next came the step Amie was still unsure about: facing her parents. When she found them at their car out front, Mom was still shocked – an entirely unreasonable response given the numerous times Amie had warned she would not go through with the wedding. Dad was angry, red-faced and huffing. Their family would have to drop out of society, maybe move away, for the shame of it. No other daughter in memory had run away from her own wedding.

It had been disrespectful, and desperate. Amie liked to add that the escape had been daring, right there in front of everyone. All it took was that one time; now she was free. No one would try to match their son with her again. Quite honestly, Nick was the most likely to succeed with her. When even he didn’t match up to Amie’s ideals, the line of suitors was down to none.

Dad told her to get in the car, and they drove home in silence. After unloading the car, still no words were offered to scold or to question. Mom closed herself in her room, and Dad sat on the couch, watching his daughter. Amie would have to begin the conversation. He would force her to start her explanation on her own.

Fishing for the shortest path to the end of the lecture, Amie began with reassurance, “Nick knew.”

“There’s plenty of blame to share.”

“He wanted to. He agreed.”

Eyebrows arched.

“This way isn’t for us…” Answers were harder to come by when the interrogator already knew them and still wasn’t satisfied. Several minutes more of quiet passed.

“You looked beautiful today,” the man choked. No anger could stem his sentimentality. Perhaps he, too, was relieved that custom had been breached.

Amie moved towards him, and sat, back to the couch. She leaned her head on his knee. “I’m sorry this is hard for you,” her words whispered against his slacks.

“Nick’s not a bad young man. I thought you might even have chosen him yourself, if that was our way.” Dad pulled his glasses by the bridge and wiped them on his tie. “You could have been happy.”

Breathing deeply against his knee was all she dared. Who could know better whether they would be happy? Nick had agreed with her, all along. Only for a moment at the peak of the excitement had he doubted, and afterwards he knew again that they’d both been right.

Had running been ignoble? Should she have slammed him with her bouquet at the altar, stood facing the crowd to tell all what she thought of their tradition? The option had been considered, and Nick had been rather against it. Bekah argued that was more confrontational than required, and would only make matters worse when facing her parents.

What now? Could she go back to life as normal, pretending there had been no wedding? Amie’s hometown was otherwise a beloved place. Leaving wouldn’t be her first choice. She had friends here, and though she wasn’t willing to marry him, she was reluctant to lose Nick’s friendship. A threat of destiny chilled through her heart, and a sob pulled itself from her chest. In the choices given her, Amie stood by the direction she’d gone. Lately the limited options had seemed to carry her. This, her most defiant move ever, was also the most constrained. Life was going where she would rather not.

Mom came into the living room and sat down beside Amie. She rested her hand on the young woman’s curls. Dad shifted his leg to bear the weight, and Amie realized she was still crying. No one said anything.

Days went by and still no one said anything. Mom and Dad were reconciled to what had happened. Not that they understood. Amie was bothered that they seemed content to not comprehend her choice. How would they help her move on? Were they punishing her? Was coping truly as difficult for them as it was for her?

Bekah met Amie for lunch, which turned out to be dessert only. When there’s no way out, chocolate makes the truth go down better. A few months younger, Bekah hadn’t been paired off yet, but she was ready. Her sweet temper and skill as a listener nearly guaranteed her happiness. Additionally, wearing the chiffon bridesmaid sash as a headband today set off the faintly freckled skin of her dimpled cheeks: a sight that was turning a few eyes for a second look. Amie fought against crying again when she realized that her best and dearest friend would in a few months be less accessible to her, even if Amie stayed in town. The married club tended toward exclusivity, being that everyone of a certain age for miles around was a member.

The girls watched each other, Bekah concerned for where Amie would go next and whether she would be happy there; Amie imagining Bekah as a housewife and momma. Moms were good around here. So were husbands. With a few exceptions, even the kids were pretty easy. Amie was always an exception.

Nick entered the small café, not the slightest hesitation in his step or expression before he was at their booth, chatting as the friend he’d always been. Already dreamy, it was a short leap for Amie to picture her two friends together. The idea startled her in its obvious positives. A moment more had her convinced such was the secret wish of each. Finally a few contemplative bites more of her pie allowed Amie to conclude that there was no conspiracy, no understanding or verbal confession. Nick was a good man, and would not have betrayed faith even on an engagement so temporary as his had been with Amie. Now?

Nick and Bekah sat side by side across from Amie, the guaranteed seed of a new way of doing things. The collaborators in Amie’s rebellion could be the first to reap the benefits. Love unfolded before her eyes. A man charming a woman was a rare sight in those parts, but Amie knew it. Nick stroked the soft tail of the scarf Bekah wore, and her fingers trembled against his on the table.

She ought to say something witty, a taunt to – to what? To bring herself back to the center of attention? To make less awkward the most natural thing in the world? To interrupt the developing happiness of two of her favorite people? Amie ate the rest of her pie in silence, seeing the world with new eyes. The sounds from the café stove and cars on the street harmonized with the reflections off forks casting shadows through the salt shaker.

Spring is My Lady's Domain

2009-02-15T00:18:00.000-07:00

Spring is my lady’s domain
Autumn the field of her brother
Winter waits on yarning old women
Summer sweeps in young children’s laughter.

Time is the tale of seasons
Space present in jumbles of ways
My friends dance in the streets of lifetime
God catches men home full by joy-worn days.

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Lori's Choice Part 23

2008-09-12T16:12:00.006-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be screened by parents before minors read it.

Finally the guests and bridal party were gathered at the little reception. Cake was cut. The bouquet was thrown. Rebekah caught it. Lori had to borrow it back a few minutes later when they went up for the final pictures.

The photographer asked the groom to kiss the bride and the rest of the bridal party exchanged glances. Caleb looked at them all and reassured them, “It’s ok. I’ll be good.” He closed his eyes to envision the picture-perfect kiss, and Lori impulsively stood on tiptoe to plant one on him instead. He forgot about looking good. The photographer got a perfect shot, several perfect shots, in fact, before they were done. Mom rolled her eyes. Pastor Greg tapped Caleb on the shoulder. “Your guests, they’ll want to greet you,” he said.

Caleb wouldn’t let her hand go. The young Mrs. Donnigan tugged it free to hug her dear friends before they left in his blue, um, Ford. For one night Anna was staying with Mom. One night. Lori shook with excitement and held tighter to Caleb’s hand.

The truck was decked with streamers and cans trailing off the bumper, but nothing worse. They made plenty of noise bumping over the dirt road to home. At the homestead Caleb parked the pickup and carried Lori over the footbridge, careful not to drop her in the water, and over the threshold into their new house. It looked quite different than the last time she’d seen it, that fall. Tess and Ryan and Caleb had all been busy arranging furniture and putting up the curtains Lori provided them.

“It’s early, yet. You hungry?” Lori opened a cupboard.

“Yes,” Caleb said, but his eyes hinted he didn’t mean it literally.

“Caleb, you’re a fool.”

“Come on. You going to start nagging already?”

Lori smiled a huge smile. “Everyone in that whole church back there is thinking it. You didn’t have a goofy smirk, for which I’m grateful, but you had that eagerness I can’t explain. It’s not quite like you.”

“This is the married me,” Caleb said.

Lori shook her head.

“Tell me. Describe what I did. I know I rather lost my head.”

“Well, you did ok at first. You weren’t paying much attention, but that’s understandable," Lori's smile was teasing, like the afternoon driving back from town. "At least you were following the general flow. When you started whispering, I knew you’d been thinking your own thing instead of whatever the lyrics were saying, but that was ok, too. Then you paid close attention for the vows and the ring, which is the most important part. You said ‘I do,’ just fine. In fact incredibly." One tiny tear glistened in her eye. The emotion had been carried away on the moment before. Now, in remembering, she was more vulnerable. "I wasn’t sure I could make it through my part after that." Mischeivous again, she went on, "However, after you said ‘I do,’ the married you seemed to want to hurry up and get to the married privileges. Is that what you were thinking, or is it just me?”

Caleb laughed at the impression he’d given. “I’d say that’s not really what I was thinking. I was reviewing our vows, and what you meant by how you said it, and your little fingers in mine, including the one with the ring. I missed Pastor Greg saying to kiss you, and then I didn’t know what to do. After hopefully not too long a time, I recovered, but then I was embarrassed and just wanted out of there. Sorry.”

“Oh Caleb,” she laughed for him. She stroked his cheek. He blushed a little, but mostly just stood there admiring her.

“The day for which we’ve waited. Isn’t it precious?” he asked.

“I love you,” she said.

“We should have put that in our ceremony somewhere,” Caleb added. “Do you want me to tell you how you did?”

Lori tilted her head to listen.

“You came into sight just as your entry music finished the first bar. Clinging to your dad’s arm, you walked towards me. Or maybe you flew. I know it seemed fast. You were graceful every time you moved. I got mesmerized watching the way the dress flowed when you stepped aside, turned, even just shuffled. When Anna made a little noise you gave her a quick look. Otherwise your eyes were on mine. I suppose that’s because I was watching you, too. Probably not the plan for success in making it through a ceremony as scheduled. Your voice was soft and tender." Caleb seemed to listen to his memory. "I thought you were bypassing the mind filter and speaking straight from your heart. When I missed my cue and looked to you, you waited, then hinted without moving anything but your eyes. For a second that seemed like eternity I thought, ‘This is it,’ and you leaned in when I bent to kiss you. After that you looked so stunned by my kiss that I was worried you would faint. Rather than catch you as you fell, you ended up off the ground, crying out in surprise, just as a young bride should, and clinging to my neck. Your veil fell into my eyes as I walked, but you were smiling, delighted, in the moment. And then the moment I will never forget. I wish I had a picture of it. Not for me to remember, but so I can show our great-grandkids. It will be so hard to explain you there, that ring of white flowers,” Caleb caressed her circlet, “and you beneath it, waiting and trusting and loving.”

Lori got a more exhaustive tour of the house. “I moved some of my things into the bedroom,” Caleb told her last. There were flowers on the dresser, reflected in a large mirror that hung just above it. And a whole stack of throws and quilts lined the hope chest at the end of the bed. In a corner was a space for Anna’s crib. But there were other things, things that reminded her of Caleb. There were books, and a shelf full of journals. A picture hung on the wall opposite their window. Lori spun around slowly to take it all in. Once she’d made two full rotations, Caleb closed the door behind them.

The room was small. It took him not two steps to reach her.

Lori’s eyes fluttered open when the sunlight made it to their window. Caleb looked down at her disheveled crown of white flowers. He was propped up on one elbow. He didn’t know how long he’d been like that, but his arm was asleep, so he estimated it was a while. She smiled when she saw his face. Instinctively she sat up and pulled her knees under her chin.

“Good morning, Caleb Donnigan,” she said.

“Lori,” he kissed her, “Donnigan,” another kiss, “I love you.”

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 22

2008-07-18T17:25:00.002-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be screened by parents before minors read it.

The wedding was a celebration with their families and friends. The whole church turned out. Jenny volunteered to watch Anna instead of being a bridesmaid, since Caleb couldn’t come up with a matching number of men to be groomsmen. The day of the wedding he dressed at dawn, despite his brother informing him in his practical way that by the end of the ceremony (scheduled for one), he would reek with sweat. It didn’t matter. Lori would be waiting.

At 11:30, as arranged, they met in the garden behind the church. It was sheltered from the eyes of arriving guests. Lori was decked in her splendorous white, and he felt like falling over when she rounded the corner to meet him. He took her hand slowly, looked in her eyes, and said, “You look beautiful. Are you ready?” Lori could only nod, her voice choked with the emotion that spilled over into her eyes.

“Hey, don’t cry! You’ll ruin the pictures!” he teased.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen gathered in the reception hall with the couple to take photographs. Jenny had a dress to match the bridesmaids, and even Anna was in a coordinating gown. Mom and Dad on one side, and Michael and Tess on the other made elegant bookends. Lori felt it was a perfect picture of the way all her friends and family, and nearest to her, Caleb, had kept her together through all this.

Not more than an hour later, Lori entered the sanctuary. All eyes turned to her. Caleb felt like he’d never seen her before, she was looking so radiant. She was grown from the slight girl of seventeen he’d first fallen in love with. Her hands were the same that had gestured about the speedometer and bugs hitting the windshield in his pickup that day. He smiled at the memory, all the while searching the eyes of the woman crossing the distance between the door and the altar. The minister was talking. Dad said “I and her mother” to some question or other. After the ceremony he would try to remember what. Lori gently placed her hand in his, trusting him to hold on. That’s how she is. That’s how I always treat her, he thought.

A few of Lori’s favorite songs, romantic and spiritual, played while he whispered to her what he was thinking. Pastor Greg tried to keep from rolling his eyes. He himself was torn between sentiment and humor. He determined to remind his bride how much he loved her. Tess watched the exchanges between the bride and groom. Whenever Lori spoke to him she looked down first at her flowers, then up into his strong, smiling face. It was a thoughtful smile, Tess observed. She dabbed at the corner of her eyes.

For the vows, Caleb convinced himself to pay full attention to what was being said. He only got distracted a few times feeling Lori’s hand in his. Her fingers felt small, and a little cooler than his. He said “I do,” looking at her face with just the right timing that he got the words out strongly and still filled them with emotion, passion. She said “I do” with just a hint of that high-pitched tone that told him whenever she was doing something straight from her heart. Good thing she agreed to marry him in a more steady tone, or he would have wondered.

The pastor told Caleb he could kiss his bride, but he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard it yet. She waited expectantly, not puckering yet, but… puckering? He laughed he’d thought that. Then her eyes flashed just the tiniest second of irritation. Lori didn’t want to have to tell him to kiss her. At last, certain he wasn’t still waiting for the pastor to say what he’d missed him saying, Caleb bent to kiss his little Lori. His hands held her waist or she might have fallen. He’d been saving up. When he released her, she looked dizzy and he was on fire. So he knew now why he’d waited to kiss her.

He swooped her up into his arms. Lori shrieked for his sake, worried he couldn’t hold her. His natural strength coupled with his adrenaline made it an unnecessary fear. He carried her all the way down the aisle. The bridesmaids and groomsmen hurried to follow them out. A prayer at the end got skipped, and the official introduction, but they were legally married. Lori laughed as she told him just outside the doors what he’d done. “Do you want me to go back in so you can get introduced?” he asked.

“Maybe we’ll get Greg to do it at the reception. You should have seen Marybelle’s face, though!”

"Sorry. You don’t mind too much?” Caleb looked down at her as he lowered her to the ground. He pulled a wisp of her hair away from her face and tucked it under some white flowers. When the people started exiting, they were standing there, kissing again.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 21

2008-06-14T01:29:00.001-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be screened by parents before minors read it.

Circumstances necessitated the delay in purchasing a wedding dress. Mrs. May promised to devote herself to its construction as soon as they thought she was close enough in size to be fitted. Pastor Greg would perform the ceremony. They had persuaded him to do it even though as a children’s pastor it wasn’t usually his job. The senior pastor did do the premarital counseling, and persuaded them to let him do part of the ceremony as well.

Caleb was less and less able to meet with Lori for outings and planning. The ranch was at a busy time of year. So busy, in fact, that Caleb had asked Lori for permission to hold off on a honeymoon for several months. She missed him, but still agreed readily, recognizing God’s providence in working everything out perfectly. This way Anna would be old enough that she could stay with grandma (either one or both) while they went off to have fun.

For a week or so, Lori went through a time of insecurity whether this was the right thing. Tess attributed it to the fact that she was not spending a lot of time with Caleb, whose confidence Lori always seemed to rely on. One night he called her, having been informed by his mom that Lori needed to talk. “I’ve missed you. Are you doing ok?” he began.

“Fine. Just a little nervous. I feel like everything is new, but I keep thinking I shouldn’t feel that way. I mean, I have loved you a long time, and I am a mom already. But it’s so different. And getting married, that’s new.”

“That sounds normal. You’ve no idea how amateur I feel. You’re not too nervous that you think we should delay?” Caleb worried for a second that his bride would back out. Maybe he should have married her sooner.

“No, not that.” Lori was feeding Anna as she propped the phone on her ear. Caleb smiled at the sound of his baby eating while neither of them were talking. “I just needed to hear your voice, I guess. Anna misses you, too.”

“Impossible,” Caleb argued.

“You should see her, honestly, Caleb!” Lori laughed. “They say babies can’t really smile this young, but ‘they’ lie. She even looks sad when you’re gone.”

“You’re just sad when I’m gone,” Caleb told her.

“Fine. I can’t prove it to you. If you won’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do.” “You want to come over for lemonade tomorrow?” Caleb invited.

“Love to. I’ll even leave Anna with Mom, ok?”

“You don’t think she’ll miss me too much?”

“Maybe. She might be too distracted missing me.” Lori was quiet for a while. When Caleb didn’t say anything, she commented, “Oh, I have so much to do, but I don’t care. I need a break. Will you be working?”

“On and off. You can watch,” Caleb encouraged.

“Ok. You know, there was a time when I thought the farmer’s wife life was tops. Now I’m not so sure.”

“That was in autumn, right after harvest, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Lori adjusted the phone so she could cradle her sleeping daughter in the other arm.

“Caleb, Anna’s asleep. I need to put her down. Is it ok if I go?”

“Love you, Lori.”

“I love you,” she said.

To God be all glory.

A Glimpse of Hope

2008-06-14T01:18:00.001-06:00

by Melian

She stood at the shoreline, the water lapping at her bare feet, the loose ends of her hair whipped around her face by the wind that had come up in the last half-hour; it's breath on her cheeks the only thing keeping her believing that this was reality and not just a muddled dream she'd somehow wandered into.

Her eyes were fixed unseeingly on the clouds that settled thickly over the gray waters. A familiar burning ache grew in her throat and her heart stood in her eyes, though no one was around to look in them.

Everyone was gone. Parents had packed up their children when the breeze had begun to pick up and the increasing cold of the once balmy air had finally chased everyone else away.

Rain began to fall from the heavens, cool and fresh. She loved rain. She loved it when she was happy and perhaps even more when she felt as she did at that moment, for it seemed to shed tears for her and the moan of the wind gave voice to the cry that was in her heart.

A sand castle stood near her feet, the by-product of someone's earlier visit at the beach. It's thick walls were beginning to flatten as the foam crested waves dashed against it and the rain beat down on top of it--like so much of her life, she thought. So many dreams and plans and relationships had come tumbling down around her as the life-rains poured down and before she could even catch her breath the pieces were carried off like sand castles by the sea.

Rain drops mingled with tears on her cheeks memories wakened new pain in her numb heart. Conflicting thoughts and emotions struggled inside her but the only ones that formed themselves into words escaped her lips in a breathy whisper "You know God. You know."

She took a deep breath that threatened to break into a sob and lifted her eyes from the clouded horizon. She caught sight of a hole in the storm clouds high over her head--a small patch of blue sky beyond the storm. A small ray of sunlight escaped through the opening and sparkled on the water, making it dance and speaking peace to her heart. Another deep breath of ocean air felt like balm on the shattered pieces of her heart and she squared her shoulders. There was blue sky beyond the storm clouds, warmth beyond the cold. And even if the rest of her life was as stormy as that day, she would always have her bit of blue sky to hold onto--there was always the promise that one day the whole of her existence would open up in a bright expanse of clear blue; perfect, peaceful and perpetual. There was always hope.

Accident into Reality

2008-03-19T17:03:00.003-06:00

I wrote this because I was inspired; it might be a little violent...

She checked her speedometer and wondered the tenth time that morning why she was going so fast. Mindlessly tapping her brakes to bring her down to the speed limit, she stared ahead. Just at this point of her morning commute, the road pointed straight at a vista of some of the most spectacular mountains in the Colorado front range. Some days they took her breath away. Other days, like this one, she barely saw them. Instead she had a mental image of herself in her dirty gold 4-door.

Life had been a series of previous commitments the last few weeks. So much of her day was either routine or dictated that she hadn’t been thinking about how she ought to spend her time, or why she was doing any of these things. Being busy made life something to look forward to; it kept her going. But a hectic schedule was also distracting.

Ahead to her right a lone man dressed in baggy pants, and a white hat matching his long white shirt stepped off the curb towards her. The nearest cars were a block ahead, but she knew no one was behind her either. He would make a casual crossing right after she passed. He advanced slowly, but came so close she thought her mirror might brush him as she passed. At the last minute he lunged ahead of her car onto the pavement and was crushed beneath her wheels.

She slammed on her brakes, maybe making matters worse, and checked her rear-view mirror to see whether the stoplight behind her had released its traffic. All in a moment she had her flashers on and her cell phone out to dial 911. As she talked she got out of the car, grateful the lane was wide enough to leave space for her to kneel beside the man, not flat like you would think, but crumpled in an odd way, behind her car. No medical or emergency training had prepared her, but instinct and good sense took over. She didn’t move his head or neck, instead checking his abdomen for heavy bleeding. The phone held to her ear, she got out the most important information in short pants that startled her. Was she hyperventilating? “Accident, pedestrian.” She gave the cross streets.

The cell phone beeped a warning that its newly charged battery was dying. She really should get that replaced. The first car carefully went past her, and another pulled slowly to a stop about a car-length behind her: a larger SUV driven by a level-headed man in a suit. Jumping down from the higher interior of the vehicle, he left his suit jacket behind on the seat. A 911 operator was telling her to stay calm and to make sure she was not in danger from traffic when her phone alerted her to its death with a cheery chime. Frustrated and with a sore neck, she let the phone drop, freeing her to do more for the man who, she thanked God, was still alive.

It seemed like five trains of thought moved at once. What had happened? She replayed the scene over and over. What should she have done? Could she have known? She saw his face again and again, unbroken unlike the one on the ground at her knees.

She prayed. Mostly it came in an unbroken series of God’s names, or just the repeated cry, “God, God, God!”

Her hands continued to work, assessing her patient even though she didn’t know how to treat him. She looked around for the ambulance that wouldn’t come for several more minutes. That’s when she finally realized someone was helping her. He was asking what had happened.

She was talking, too, trying to share the jumble of facts in her head, and sounding coherent in spite of herself. Concerned for the shock she must be going through as well, the stranger put his hand on her shoulder. He moved to the injured man’s head to do a little first aid she remembered vaguely being taught in swimming lessons more than ten years ago. He checked to make sure his windpipe wasn’t blocked and there was nothing in his mouth on which he might choke. “Do you have any water, cloths, paper towels?” he asked.

She leapt to her feet and back to her car, hands sticky with blood. The door was still ajar, and the car was still running. She turned the key back towards herself and left it in the ignition. Reaching behind the passenger seat, she pulled a mini roll of paper towels off the floor. Then she retrieved her water bottle and hurried back.

“Good,” he said, and began to gently rinse the man’s mouth of his blood. He soaked a paper towel in the fresh water and told her to clean the more minor wounds on his arms and apply pressure if any larger wounds were still releasing blood. She willed him to breathe as she moved, and kept talking to the patient, telling him what she was doing and why, and praying aloud for him.

At last the sound of sirens grew and drew near. The road filled with lights as the barricade of police cruisers arrived. Officers emerged from the car and gently coaxed the good Samaritans back from the scene. An ambulance squealed and honked its way through the intersection, and EMT’s had swung open the doors, lugging bags of gear, before the vehicle even stopped.

A couple officers with notepads interviewed the witnesses for the report. Her hands began to shake first, and then her knees felt like they would give out. She tried to answer their questions. “I was going about 41 miles per hour. I’d just checked, and slowed down. Excuse me.” She sat on the pavement, blood on her skirt, blood on her hands, and her stomach beginning to get queasy at the smell. She stared at the EMT’s lifting the man onto a stretcher. “I saw him, thought he looked like an irresponsible kid who was going to make a break for the crossing right after I passed. He got a head start towards me and then literally… he… dove…” She tried to look at the boy’s face to focus. His eyes were shut, and now that the medical team had cleaned him up, she could see ragged lines of scrapes and dark patches of swollen bruises. And then she cried, the sound pouring out of her like vomit, as though all the ache in her insides could be purged in tears and groaning.

The SUV man’s reassuring hand touched her back. She opened her eyes and realized her hands were too gross to wipe away the tears or cover her stained face. Blinking, she could see the stone in her ring spark through the stains of blood. “Can we get some water,” the officer called. He knelt in front of her. She turned her hand in the sun to see the glitter. As of yet he hadn’t seen her license, didn’t know how old she was, only knew her name. Maybe he should try to call her family. But she hadn’t requested it. Was she telling the truth?

“My name’s Drew,” said the man whose suit was ruined after his rescue attempt. He sat behind her now, and she felt both of his strong hands on her sleeves. His hands were stained from the triage as well. The officer who had interviewed him stood by, noting that the man hadn’t seen the accident, only the aftermath. He said the girl had spunk, and was doing a good job trying to help when he pulled up. “They need to know what happened.”

She nodded. She knew. But hearing the facts, simple, repetitive, helped.

“Here, wash your hands. He took the water bottle the EMT brought over and began pouring it beside her, while he reached for her hands to move them under the slow stream. Her fingers stretched apart, then closed. She felt them stick, and opened them apart again. Eventually the water carried the mess away. Immediately her hands went to her face to brush away the slower tears. While her eyes were covered, she focused on other senses. She heard cars, chirping brakes, engines, the air blowing across her hair as the cars passed. Against her legs the pavement was rough and hard. Behind her she was aware of something softer to lean against, and she realized, gradually, as she opened her eyes and turned her head, that Drew was holding her. Perhaps he thought she might faint.

“I put on my brakes as soon as I saw him dive,” she managed to say, followed by one long, slow breath. “I don’t know if that was good, but it was reflex. I got right out of the car, and dialed 911. He was behind the car a few feet, and curled up in odd angles. Why would he do that?” She turned with her question to her companion. “If he wanted to commit suicide, why not a bigger car? Why not a lot of cars? Why mine? I was just on my way to work.”

Her mind made note that she was late for work and should probably call them. But she didn’t want to. Should she call her mom? What did people do before 911? Were the mountains still there? She looked up to check. Wouldn’t someone just lead her away? Tell her what to do? She was mentally exhausted, making enough life and decisions in five minutes to last her for years.

Exchanging a glance with the officer as he said it, Drew offered to check her car. “Let’s see if there’s much damage.” He stood and lifted her to her feet, then guided her towards her car. The ambulance was just pulling away. Her cell phone remained, lifeless, behind her car. She was vaguely aware that traffic was backed up, being reduced from three lanes to one. “Not too bad,” Drew pointed at the bumper and distracted her from watching the retreating ambulance. Coming around to the front he noticed more dents, and blood. He stooped to look under the car. The officer shone his flashlight. “Maybe need a little more work here. Check the alignment and shocks, and this axel. Do you think it needs towed?” he asked.

The policeman shook his head. No. Both men agreed without a word that she didn’t need to be driving. “Can I see your license?” the officer asked, filling in the date and time, recording her license plate, on his form. She pulled it out of her purse. Her calves still burned like they might stop working, so she sat down on the seat once she handed it to him. Drew walked away, and she leaned towards his leaving, ready to say something if he wasn’t coming back. She hoped the words that would come would be more honest than a thank you. She didn’t want him to go yet, and wasn’t willing to admit that he had the right to get on with his day.

He came back soon with her cell phone. “Battery?” he asked, and tried a smile. She nodded. “Did you say you were on your way to work?” he hinted.

“Yes. I guess I should call in.”

He took off to his SUV. “I’ll get my phone,” he said.

“Hey, you know, we should really move this to the side road up there, stop blocking traffic now,” the policeman took a moment from his report to say.

“Can you drive to just up there?” Drew pointed to the first turn. “I’ll follow you.” Answering the proffered cell phone, he said, “Hang on to it.” She clung to it like a deposit on his promise to follow her. A little after the light behind them turned red, the line of cars thinned enough to let each of them in and back out at the turn. She pulled up beside a peaceful residence with a tree out front and a mailbox. Every house had a mailbox. The mountains were still visible over the roofs of the houses on her left.

To her relief, the recently washed navy blue SUV parked behind her, and she opened the door while she borrowed his phone to call her office. “Everything ok?” he asked once she had scanned the number pad for the off button.

The black and white sedan of the police fleet turned onto their road and did a U-turn to park across the street. “I feel bad leaving them hanging.”

“Where do you work?” he made small talk, trying to set her at ease.

She kept running her hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face. He tried not to stare at the darkening blood stains on her skirt. “At an eye doctor’s office. Should you call in?”

“No,” he waved at the phone still in her possession and wondered when to suggest that she call a friend. She might break down all over again. “I don’t have to report. My schedule isn’t that fixed. If they want me, they’ll call.”

A few more minutes saw the completion of all the police had to do on the scene. He confirmed her home phone and asked if she’d be all right.

“I’m ok. Thanks.”

Drew watched her steadily. He didn’t know her, but he had studied people, and he doubted her. She would be ok. Right now she was ok, depending on what you wanted her to do. She wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t driving. So far she wasn’t calling any friends or family.

Her mind reviewed the scene after the accident. What happened and when. What did she say? What did he say? Was he praying, too, or just her? Did she pray out loud? She remembered him saying “amen” to her prayers. When the ambulance finally arrived, after the police, he’d said “Thank You, God.” She remembered. Things were sharper now than even when they happened. Her world was recovering sense and order. All she wanted was a shower and new clothes, then maybe a good long Jane Austen movie – no explanations, no cries of concern. But maybe she should try to go to work. She’d call after a shower.

“I think I’ll go into shock soon,” she said absently.

“No you don’t,” Drew moved a step closer and interrupted his silent consideration of what should be done to distract her with more conversation. “You live close?”

“What?” her face lifted up like the break of the morning, refreshed and eager. “Yes.” She pointed and told him the nearest major intersection to her home. He noted it was a residential neighborhood with trees and parks, a few apartments between rows of 30 year old homes.

“You can come back for your car later, and I could give you a ride.” He saw her shrink back at the offer, but continued. “Is there someone at home you could call?”

So he had to go. He didn’t even have to stop to help at all. God had allowed the situation to come to her. She couldn’t have very well left. But this man was staying long past the call of duty. His hand prints were on her sleeves. Maybe he was an angel. Though it seemed unfair comparing her need to that of the suicidal young man now at an ER somewhere, she needed an angel. If he was an angel, he wouldn’t mind her asking. If he wasn’t, he’d be flattered or amused. She decided to go for it.

“Me?!” He showed the first real smile since she met him. “No such luck. But I can still give you a ride, or don’t you take lifts from human beings?”

“I don’t want to be a bother. You’ve done so much you didn’t have to. This isn’t your problem. I can call someone.”

“If you want to. But would you take a ride from an angel?” Drew pressed. He wanted to help. Even if she called someone else, he wouldn’t leave her alone until they were here. She would most likely break down again. He might break down. He prayed more urgently.

“Maybe. I mean, I’d feel bad if God sent me an angel to help and I said no. But you have other things to do.”

“What if God sent me? What if this is what God wants me to do?”

Her eyes brightened. “That’s possible.”

“Or you could call whoever ‘someone’ is, and we could drive to the ER to see if we can check our patient’s status.”

“I’m curious, but I think it might be fruitless. All the privacy laws now.” Her voice had changed. It was stronger, and slower. She was less nervous now.

“Do you want to try?”

“I don’t think so.”

Drew accepted her answer and took a few steps toward her car on the sidewalk. “Get your purse, and your keys. Is it locked?”

She checked the door. “Good.”

Once snugly inside his superior-sized SUV, she leaned against her window. He watched the road intently, stealing glances to check on his charge whenever he could. The radio played the Christian CD he had in, and she hummed the tune quietly. She was trying to decide what to do when she went home. Her mom would be borderline hysterical. And someone would have to take care of her and explain everything. They’d probably have to call her dad at work. Or maybe she should call him first.

Still worried she would go into shock, Drew asked some more questions. “After we get close, you’ll have to tell me where to turn. Is someone going to be there? I don’t think you should be alone.”

“It might be harder dealing with the people who are there,” she admitted, “than an empty house. I’m the oldest of six kids, and at least two will be at home. My mom should be there, and she’ll be a – upset.”

“Your dad?” Six kids! Was this a blended family, or was she Mormon?

“At work.”

“Do you need to call him?”

“I thought about it.”

“You can borrow my cell phone again.” He pointed to where it was charging, but went on before she could reach for it. “So where do you go to church?”

“The Baptist church up the road from the accident. South.” Drew could almost imagine her turning a compass to figure out the direction, just like a girl.

“I work at a Christian ministry in DTC,” he volunteered. “We interview, survey, and describe speakers, and help coordinate getting them in for an event. Most churches could do it on their own, but we cut down on the work. And we do reviews and classification of Christian books, too.”

“Turn here,” she pointed. “You’re a match-making service for Christians and ministries, then. What spiritual gifts does that apply?”

Drew did a double take. From prayers that consisted of calling on the generic “God” to asking him whether and which spiritual gifts he used in his job? He took another turn per her direction, and pulled to a stop in between houses. “Here?”

“Until I call my dad.”

“Well, I guess we use administration and discernment. We pray a lot, and study the Bible so that we can be alert if we come across something that might not be orthodox or biblical.”

“Which happens a lot.” It was a statement. She used the rear view mirror to scout her house. “Can I use your phone?”

“Go ahead.” Drew listened to her lead into telling her dad what happened. Twenty-three. Lives at home. Baptist. God-empowered, if what I saw today is an indication. She’d been amazingly calm when in the middle of the emergency. He meant to ask her if she had first aid training.

She used her free hand to massage her neck. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken up. I called work. They’ll be ok for a while. Yes. I need to change. Where? I’m right outside home, but wanted to call you before I went in. Do you know if Mom’s home?”

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 20

2008-03-10T15:32:00.003-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be screened by parents before minors read it.

Caleb got a call one late spring evening. “Caleb, darling,” Lori said placidly, “the baby is coming. You want to meet us at the hospital?”

Caleb let out a whoop and jumped to the ceiling. His dad and mom rolled their eyes at their normally quiet son, gathering their things to go with him. Ryan was at a youth group outing, so they left him a note telling him where they went, and to call Michael.

At the hospital in the city, Caleb went in with Lori for a little while before the labor got too strong. He talked her through several contractions, promising to be in the waiting room praying through all the rest. Ryan arrived unexpectedly at the hospital about midnight. “I’m gonna be an uncle. You think I’d miss this?” he grinned. Caleb clapped his brother on the back and continued pacing.
At about three, as is the uncanny habit of newborns, Lori’s baby entered the world. Caleb came in a few minutes later, after the room was cleaned up a little. Lori held the little girl in her arms, smiling proudly at her beloved. Catching the doctor’s attention, she told him, “Her name is Anna Grace… Donnigan.” Her smile was tired.

Caleb bent to kiss her forehead. “Sure?” he asked.

"I decided that a long time ago,” she whispered.

Anna cried. Lori handed her gently into Caleb’s arms. He’d been getting lessons from his mom to prepare for this. Before the nurse took Anna to complete the post-natal regimen, he rocked her skillfully.

“I think she’ll have spirit, Caleb,” Lori said.

“She looks like you,” Caleb observed.

“I’m glad.”

Mom cried. Tess held her and cried too. Dad and Mr. Donnigan stood just inside, forced to move closer towards the weary mother each time a doctor or nurse came through. The grandfathers looked tired, but reluctant to leave. All of them had already invested so much love in this little infant. It didn’t matter anymore where she came from.

-----------------------------------------------------

At the baby shower Anna got lavished with more baby things than one little girl could ever need. Lori wrote out her thank-you’s right away. She cried a lot after the first week, due to some temporary frustrations over being a single mother coupling with her rapidly fluctuating hormonal emotions.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 19

2008-01-02T15:23:00.000-07:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori’s Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

Tess had Lori over for long talks whenever Caleb had a long day of work. They needed to be able to talk without interruption. Lori had lots of questions about the life she’d agreed to. Sometimes Mom came with Lori. Tess and Mom hadn’t been close friends before. Now Tess’s quiet, persistent faith began to erode Mom’s bitterness. Soon the three women were praying together for the marriage that would be, for the pregnancy, and for the baby.

One day Lori surprised them all by praying for the father of her baby. She prayed he would be caught and convicted, that he would hear the truth of God’s forgiveness in prison, and be saved. Lori continued, “Help me to forgive him and move on. God, help my heart to be full given to Caleb. I feel I owe him that much, at least.”

Tess and Mom exchanged looks, both puzzled over what was in Lori’s heart. But neither of them dared ask. They kept praying in their own hearts that Lori would grow in godliness.

Marybelle joined their prayer and planning meetings when she could. She lent a youthful enthusiasm to their discussions. Her heart was unquestioningly faithful to her heavenly Father, her influence on Lori’s sometimes turbulent spirit was welcomed by Mom and Tess.

Right before Christmas Caleb and Lori sat down to decide on a date for the wedding. In the end Lori had her way, and they scheduled the wedding for Midsummer’s Eve. Plans then began in earnest for invitations and facilities.

The baby continued to grow safely in the womb. Lori got cravings for chocolate ice cream like she’d never had before. This caused her to gain an unusual amount of weight for her, but it was just enough to keep her doctor happy. Caleb backed off on wrapping his arms around her, enabling him to wait for their marriage for further physical affection.

Lori worked with Caleb to choose baby names. Every time Lori spoke with him, he noticed she had more assurance that God was showering her with His grace. Caleb recognized that it was easy to be so thankful when times were good, so Pastor Greg frequently reminded him that Lori had been like that even when she was without hope to ever be married, and facing the raising of her child alone. Together they agreed that if Lori had a girl, her name would be Anna Grace. They couldn’t think of a counterpart to Grace for a boy, so they settled on Matthew Nathanael, which meant the same thing, “Gift of God.”

Janelle came through with great skill in planning things like the baby shower and wedding reception. The shower was scheduled for a week after Lori’s due date. “Don’t go late,” she instructed Lori.

“I’ll try,” she said. Lori was more than willing to oblige. By this time the novelty of being so round had worn off, and she was ready to hold a baby in her arms instead.

Caleb leaned on his pastor and his dad for wisdom in growing in love with his bride. Since they were moving so fast, he felt rather overwhelmed. But Lori’s heart was ever his, willing to embrace whatever he offered. He was by now grateful for the extended time of engagement that enabled him to prepare even more.

To God be all glory.

His Treasure

2007-12-28T01:08:00.000-07:00

Last night Abigail didn’t get enough sleep. In fact she was sleep-deprived for the week, for various reasons. And she was tired of trying to excel in life, tired of paying attention. The spiritual weight of decisions was wearying her. Without proper expression for spiritual exhaustion, she manifest the feeling by sitting down in a chair, alone in the church foyer, and telling herself that she really needed to cry. No tears came.

A swarm of hungry people were filling Styrofoam plates with little smokies, deviled eggs, cookies, and various unrelated potluck dishes in the church’s fellowship hall. Abigail had just received a bit of news that needed processing before she joined the crowd. When she walked down there one of two things would happen: she would either feel immensely lonely, surrounded by dozens of people ignoring her, or she would pretend to be alright when someone noticed her. She could pretend, but she hated to.

So until she composed herself, sufficiently surrendering this new weight to God through rapid, almost unintelligible thought-prayers, she would stay here in the still hall. No one would miss her; no one could help; and it didn’t matter.

But that was the old reality. Now there was someone who would sit by her if she were at the fellowship meal, someone who didn’t need her to pretend to be alright, and someone who noticed she was gone. Matt came looking. The walk was short, and unhurried. After all, the meal wasn’t mandatory, and he wasn’t really worried that anything horrible had happened to her. Glancing first towards the closed and dark sanctuary, and then round the perimeter, he soon saw her. She sat in one of those pretty, deceptive chairs that promise overstuffed comfort, but whose cushions refuse to yield when you sit in one. The backs are stiff, affixed at the wrong angle, and cheaply made. Yet they give a room a decorator-defined atrium look, so churches buy them.

His treasure sat wedged into a corner, sitting straight, but with her head tipped back against the winged headrest. Her mouth was open a bit, and her eyes were closed. This morning had been crazily busy, between Sunday school and friends and the various errands that occupy church in the mornings distracting men from God and His people. So this was the first time he observed her. How had he stopped mentally photographing Abigail’s every image? Now she sat, her long, full skirt exhibiting a natural grace that belonged both to it and its treasured owner. Unbidden, his mind called her “his treasure.” Each time he rationalized it. They were only courting. Nothing was certain. That was the whole point. But he knew he loved her, and didn’t Proverbs say that a good wife was worth more that rubies? The blouse she wore, even askew, was modest, and drew his attentive eyes up to her face. Her open mouth made him laugh quietly to himself again.

Sleep was so peaceful. She must be worn out. Part of that was his fault. He was stressing her out. Unable to help himself, he’d been in a pattern of assured future alternating with self-doubt and second-guessing. She refused to let him pretend everything was normal. “I don’t want to do anything that doesn’t mean something,” she’d told him. “Well, I’ll play games and do things that don’t mean a lot, but I don’t want to do anything that means the opposite of reality. If things aren’t ok, and we need to be praying, I don’t want to just hang out and watch a movie.” Matt thought that meant she loved him – the real way.

Sliding into the equally uncomfortable seat on the other side of a potted plant and ministry flyer coffee table, he reflected that he knew what Abigail meant. They were courting now because he had realized that no matter what, he wanted to be there for her. He’d wanted to help her, to cheer her up, and… just be there. He wouldn’t take distractions for a substitute. And after he had started, Matt realized that exercising real love, like a brother in Christ should, had opened an entirely different and unexpected door. As he shifted, half of his brain wondering who manufactures foyer chairs, and the other half continuing his philosophical musings, he realized that once again, he was where he was because he wanted to push through and get to the real her.

Abigail wasn’t deeply asleep. When his foot slipped from the leverage that was keeping him comfortable in his chair, and hit the leg of the table, she opened her eyes. Raising her head and sitting up straighter, she finally got the message that her mouth was open and deliberately closed it into a smile. Seeing the change that had arisen between them since being fellow church members to trusted friends was a mystery. Being awakened from less-than-elegant posture didn’t leave her self conscious. She wasn’t even shy.

“What’s up?” he asked, dragging his reluctant eyes from the pattern in the carpet that half-matched, half-clashed with the colors in the upholstery. He cued a piercing gaze that told her he was masking seriousness in casual.

Peace dropped off of her face like a disguise at a masquerade. “Oh, everything. I don’t know what we’re going to do with Sunday school. Joan’s not going to teach. But I don’t want her to feel badly. It isn’t her. It’s everyone. Nobody is to blame. God is just bringing my need-to-be-made decisions all together, and I’m overwhelmed. He hasn’t told me what to do yet. I’m glad he told some people what they should do, you know?”

She wished he’d wrap her in his arms. If he asked her to marry him, she thought for the thousandth time, she’d say, “Tomorrow.” But as long as the longing to be held was the driving force behind her enthusiasm, she was deep down glad that he hadn’t asked. Anyway, if he held her, she wouldn’t be able to see that tender glance: the one she hoped was part of his character and not just a romantic side effect. Someday she’d see him offer it to their children. Her cheeks flushed, and her distracted eyes slipped a cautious look back at him. Caught! He’d noticed she wasn’t paying attention.

In fact he’d caught a bit more than that. God blessed him with insight into the spiritual struggles of those he loved and prayed for. The extra copper tinting on the tips of her ears, which made her look a bit elven, told him she hadn’t been taking her thoughts captive. Not that it was wrong to think of things like being a parent. There were just safer times emotionally to do such things. When he got embarrassed his temples burned, and he wondered absently if her ear tips were warmer now. Someday, if he remembered, he’d brush his finger against it when she blushed, and find out.

Now he was doing it! They had to get out of there. There wasn’t much more he could say to answer her dilemma. Usually she already knew every side to the story. “It’s just hard,” she’d explain, warding off further lectures or fix-it suggestions. Instead, he directed her towards food. “You’re grumpy when you’re hungry,” he said.

To God be all glory.

I Saw Below Me Stars Above

2007-12-25T11:35:00.000-07:00

The wind was barely blowing,
As I woke from sleep, mid-night.
The starlit darkness calling
My heart, my soul to take flight.

I rolled and slid
From under tent
Beneath the trees
My bare feet went.

The night was warm,
The clouds asleep.
The voice of starlight
Continued to speak.

My soul, it willingly listened,
My feet grace-fully obeyed.
My eyes beheld the wonders, this
Blessed night displayed.

The trees were tall,
Thick overhead,
I looked for stars;
Saw pines instead.

My feet meandered as a river,
Lazily bound for sea.
Until a sight, off bow from quiver,
Shot through my eyes –pierced me.

The sight, a sparkle of crystal flame,
Reflecting off the lake,
My eyes now heard, along with my heart,
The voice that urged me to take

This journey out of sleep,
Toward my rendezvous
To see a sky, so heavy-thick,
It denied a definite hue,

Specked with bits of heaven’s fire
Reflecting in my eye.
My feet continued carrying my heart,
To, in the lake, see sky.

My meanderance led me to a rock,
A fortress against gentle waves
Hewn by time’s catastrophe,
Yet, within its skin, held minute’s graves.

I stepped from dirt
To cold, damp stone.
The lake with the voice
Of night-stars shone.

As I advanced toward the edge,
Their reflection sang a song to me,
“Jump. Forsake your forest-dwelling feet;
Let warm, night-air carry ye.”

Again, my soul, it listened,
And again, it, I obeyed.
The water, deep, with reflection, sweet,
A symphony in my soul played.

I ran up the ancient grave of time
Threw myself to the night before me.
The warm air smiled, and so did I,
Thanking God that I was free.

For one moment, I, surrounded by air,
Saw with heart and eye.
I saw below me stars above,
And fell peacefully toward the sky.

Lori's Choice Part 18

2007-12-23T14:55:00.000-07:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori’s Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

A few weeks later Caleb was with Lori, shopping for furniture. She insisted she would love to sew all they needed in the line of curtains and cushions and tablecloths. Quilts would undoubtedly be provided by dear old friends and relatives. He smiled admiringly at her enthusiasm. “I have a blue pillow that would match this chair, and we could put a bench against the east wall,” she carried on.

“Don’t go overboard. I don’t have a million dollars,” he reminded her.

“I’d be happy with a select few things. Like tons of chairs and a bed and…” she giggled, “Oh.”

Caleb shook his head and kept walking. “Lori?”

She breathed deep of contentment. The happiness had mellowed out to a tolerable level in the three weeks since he proposed. “Yes?”

“When do you want to get married?”

Lori smiled a bit, “I’ve been thinking about that. I think it would be weird to have my wedding night while I was pregnant.”

Caleb nodded thoughtfully. “I thought of that. But I want to be there for you when you’re in labor and stuff. I don’t want you to have to do that alone.”

“I never planned on doing it alone, before I got pregnant. But I’ll make it.”

“So what timing were you thinking? I don’t want to wait too long,” he added quickly.

“I don’t want to leave the baby too soon, if we’re going to take a honeymoon. And if we’re not, that’s ok. I’d be just fine with that. But if you wanted to, I want it to work for us. So maybe a month or so after the baby is born? Like June or July?”

Caleb promised to think about it. They kept a list of furniture they were considering, and they parted until another day.

It soon became evident to their whole Bible Study on Friday nights that something serious was going on between Caleb and Lori. Lori of course had told her small group friends as well as Marybelle, and invited them to be bridesmaids, too. Caleb told a few close friends. But after a month of engagement, Caleb made the announcement to their group that he was going to marry Lori that summer.

Pastor Greg was thrilled to hear the news, but not surprised at all. He immediately prayed a prayer of thanks.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 17

2007-11-27T22:36:00.000-07:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

Lori reentered the house first. Mom asked where she’d been. “On a walk,” she said. She wanted to be left alone. That kept her from lighting the room with a smile. Tess watched her intently, wondering if she’d been with Caleb. Even so, she never expected Caleb to have made a move.

When Caleb came in, Mr. And Mrs. Donnigan exchanged a look. His stride was too purposeful, and he sat down in a chair across form Lori’s parents and leaned towards them. Oh boy, the Donnigans thought, this is not the way. Lori slipped her hand in her mother’s.

“Sir, I’d like to ask your permission to marry Lori,” Caleb stated. Ryan choked on his lemonade, sputtering it from the corner. He closed the book he’d been reading and gaped. This was something he had never dreamed he’d get to witness. The feeling was mutual all across the room.

Dad looked at Lori, whose eyes were fixed on Caleb. Then he looked at Mom, who was also watching Lori. She didn’t stir.

“I have loved her for years, and my only apology, sir, is that I did not inform you earlier. I confess,” his eyes shifted to Lori’s for a second, “I did not expect my feelings and plans to advance this quickly.”

Tess couldn’t sit still. She crossed the sitting room to Lori’s side. Her arm went around the young girl’s shoulders. Still holding her mother’s hand, Lori shifted her weight into Tess’s embrace. Yes, this was the time for which she’d been holding out.

Finally Dad spoke. His eyes were moist, which made Mom start sobbing herself. “I have known you for long enough to know your character and your intentions. I don’t think we have to go through that. So I suppose my only question is when you hope to marry her. And for Lori, is this what you want?”

Mrs. Donnigan let Lori go, knowing with a filling peace that she’d have a lot of hugs from her future daughter-in-law later. Lori forced her chin to stop quivering long enough to answer, “Yes, Dad. I do love him, too.”

Mom spoke up, cautioning her daughter, “You’re sure you’re not settling? You really love him?”
“Mom,” Lori’s eyes confessed they were full of feeling. She added, “Dad, I probably should have told you of the feelings I was wrestling with, too.”

Caleb looked shocked at this revelation. He’d been convinced she was ignorant of his love and therefore without real feeling for him. “So love’s just a response, in a girl?” he couldn’t help but asking.

She smiled teasingly, but didn’t say anything. Her dad was still waiting for an answer.

“We talked a little. There’s two options. One, before her baby is born. Two, a few months after. In the first case, the baby has my name – and so does Lori – when the baby is born. In the second we have to go through adoption procedures, which aren’t all that complicated,” he looked to his dad for confirmation, “and there’s just different stuff to deal with.”

Dad nodded, knowing at least that Caleb meant to marry his daughter within the year. “You have my permission.”

Lori couldn’t contain herself. “So sorry, Tess. Could I, please, borrow your phone?”

Tess nodded. Lori took the handheld into the kitchen for a little privacy. Caleb joined her while the phone was still ringing. “Marybelle?” Her voice was high pitched, like that evening in the hallway. Caleb smiled. His arms crept around her waist. So both their parents were watching. He didn’t care. “Guess whose arms are around my waist!”

Marybelle, of course, guessed right away. And knowing Lori’s standards, she knew it was serious if she was allowing that. “Put him on,” she demanded.

“She wants to talk to you,” Lori turned in his arms. Caleb loosened his arms, but didn’t let go, forcing Lori to keep holding the phone between them.

“Hello,” he said into the receiver she held to his ear.

“Are you going to marry her?” Marybelle asked.

Lori laughed out loud.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Marybelle said. “You’ll take good care of her?”

“Forever,” he promised.

“Let me talk to Lori.”

“So?” her giddy voice came on.

“Is he still hugging you?”

“Yes!” her voice was so high pitched that Caleb let go to plug his ears.

“Can I be a bride’s maid?” Marybelle asked.

“Maid of honor?”

“Deal.”

To God be all glory.

Turkey

2007-11-22T13:52:00.000-07:00

You know if you've been reading since I started, or if you've known me even longer than that, that this post is not new material. But I know my readers don't click on links, especially inter-Lady of Longbourn links, so I am making this very easy for you and reposting my inimitable Thanksgiving delight:

Turk - Middle English, from French Turc, from Middle Latin Turcus, from Byzantine Greek Tourkos, Persian turk, a national name, of unknown origin. Said to mean "strength" in Turkish. Young Turk was a member of an early 20c. political group in the Ottoman Empire that sought rejuvenation of the Turkish nation.

turkey - 1541, "guinea fowl" (numida meleagris), imported from Madacascar via Turkey, by Near East traders known as turkey merchants. The larger North American bird (meleagris gallopavo) was domesticated by the Aztecs, introduced to Spain by conquistadors (1523) and thence to wider Europe, by way of Africa and Turkey (Indian corn was originally turkey corn or turkey wheat in Eng. for the same reason). The word turkey was first applied to it in Eng. 1555 because it was identified with or treated as a species of the guinea fowl. The New World bird itself reputedly reached England by 1524 (when Henry VIII dined on it at court). Turkeys raised by the Pilgrims were probably stock brought from England. By 1575, turkey was becoming the usual main course at an English Christmas. Meaning "inferior show, failure," is 1927 in show business slang, probably from the image of the turkey as a stupid bird.

"My dad was asking, so I looked it up. The reason we have a bird and a country with the same name (and the slang use for a stupid or goofy person), Turkey, is as follows:

1. Turkey is named, obviously, for the Turks, and Turk is a Persian word that referred to a nation somewhere when Persia was still a big thing. In Turkish, the word "turk" came to mean strength.

2. Turkeys are native to two parts of the world: Madagascar and the Americas. Way before America was discovered by Columbus, merchants imported turkeys from Madagascar to Europe, by way of Turkey (which wasn't called Turkey then). Since the Turks were the salesmen in the middle of the trade route, the birds came to be named after them. Aztecs in America also bred turkeys.

3. Once America began to be colonized, esp. by the Spanish in the south, conquistadors sent turkeys over to Europe. The name "turkey" wasn't applied to them until after this, and the name originated in Europe, where people figured out the two species were similar.

4. One website I encountered suggested three other ideas for where turkeys got their names, but I found them unscientific. Since they were still entertaining, I'll give them to you.

You have probably heard that American Indians were called that because Columbus landed here and thought he'd reached India. Thinking this, and seeing the plumage of native wild turkeys, Columbus may have named them the word for peacock in the tongue of India (where peacocks were found), which is "tuka". Sounds similar, almost, but it doesn't convince me.
Native Americans (before they knew they were supposed to be Indians) called the birds "firkee" which, as I'm sure you can hear in your head, sounds a whole lot like "turkey" basically, just change one letter, and that has happened converting English to English, let alone foreign languages. Actually, if you go to Africa, our translations of the words we hear there can be quite different from others who visited. It depends on the ear gene you inherited or something. = )
When turkeys are afraid, they make a sound as they run, not a gobble, but "turk, turk, turk." This does not mean that the Ottomans are chasing them. That's just what they say. Hmm. Maybe that's where the Turks got their name, though? I won't go there, at least not yet. Ok, I'll make up a story that will be found in #5.

5. There once was a man from the region east of Anatolia, which was east of Greece. I think it was also west of Persia and south of Russian and north of Africa and southwest of... never mind. He liked to travel, so he sold all he had, took his three sons, and sailed to a little island SOUTH, called Madagascar (actually, I don't know if that was it's name then, but since you probably don't know what its name was then, it would be useless for me to waste time finding out and using it, since you wouldn't know what I'm talking about. On a similar note, Anatolia is the region known in the Bible as Asia Minor and on your most modern map as Turkey). While he was vacationing there on the beach, he feasted on a native bird similar to the pheasant. It was so delicious, that he wanted to take some home. So when he finally got tired of all the sun and cannibals, he and his two sons (guess where the other one went) packed up along with some of the birds and sailed home. He threw a coming home party, and all of his neighbors loved the poultry he fed them. They wanted to know what it was and how to get some. This man from the region east of Anatolia was poor after being gone so long without working, so he decided this would make a good business. A sign was soon seen in front of his house reading (in what language, I've no idea; it probably doesn't exist anymore) "Poultry for sail. Taking orders." (ok, so he couldn't spell sale, but he wasn't in the sign making business, so it didn't matter.) All of his neighbors signed up for at least a week's worth, and prepaid him. His sons went with him to brave the cannibals and collect a supply of birds to bring home. The first trip was successful, and eventually they made friends with the natives, who agreed to breed the birds for him in recompense for the loss of his third son. It became quite a thriving business, and a few of the enterprising neighbors also got involved. They built boats and began shipping the birds also. The delicacy became famous all over the known world, even Persia. To get the birds up to Persia, the men from the region east of Anatolia herded them north and east. Birds are frightened easily, and herders scared them into running the direction (hopefully) they wanted them to go. Coming into Persia, they always had a big welcome, because the noise of the birds could be heard miles or at least yards, meters, cubits or whatever they used back then away. People who were especially fond of the meat would chant as the herders entered the city, "Turk, turk, turk!" Later when these men no longer herded birds, but men instead, the Persians ran in fear, screaming, "turk, turk..." The men took up the name, and it came to be a chant of their strength. Back home, they reminded themselves of their strength (for pride accompanies power) by calling themselves Turks. The birds they kept and sold couldn't keep their name of turk, since it meant strength now and the birds were stupid, not strong. They were called turkey. This term was also used as a nickname for those among the Turks whose behavior resembled the turkey's. In Europe the names caught on, and they passed it to America, where a bigger version of the bird was bred by scalpers, not cannibals.

*I must inform you that although some parts of this story are factual, a whole lot is fictional. Please do not include any of the information found in #5 for a scientific report or to attempt to astound your friends with your incredible knowledge. = )”

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 16

2007-11-14T13:21:00.000-07:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

After church on Sunday Tess approached Lori and her family. “Are you all free for lunch? We’re having fried chicken, and I thought you might like to come over.” Dad was beginning to suspect something was going on between the two children. Mom was happily oblivious. She was wrestling with the sermon, on trusting God even when ‘bad’ things are happening. The text was from Job. Lori didn’t bother deciding. Her dad would decide, and she would take that as God’s will. How pleasant to have a man deciding for you.

They accepted the invitation and followed the Donnigans the ten miles out of town. While Mom and Tess were setting the table, Lori quizzed Ryan on life in high school. His responses were limited. He was, to tell the truth, under threat of a beating from his brother if he did anything to reveal Caleb’s feelings. So he answered her questions and no more. Lori found this amusing, so continued to interrogate him until lunch.

After lunch Caleb stated he was going to check on his fence after the rain. Lori got up as though she’d been invited. It took her a few seconds of review to realize he hadn’t said her name. But then she was up and embarrassed and felt like fleeing the watchful eyes of her parents. She nodded at them and followed him out the door.

He was a few paces ahead. She walked behind him, hoping he would turn and see her. Maybe she’d read his mind and he just expected her to follow him.

Caleb did turn when he heard her coming. The ground was soft from the showers the night before, but he was listening. His eyes asked her why she was there.

“Where is your fence?” she asked, hoping he’d offer to show her.

“Down over that hill,” he pointed. He turned to continue.

She kept coming. “Enjoy the fresh air?” he asked, facing her again.

“Yes,” she answered. “What’s it for? The fence?”

Caleb had left the house mostly because he couldn’t stand being with her. And here she was. But she didn’t feel unwelcome. He felt unwelcome. His annoying heart wouldn’t let him alone. “A project.” He walked deliberately faster. To his surprise she kept up. Finally he gave in, “You want to come see?”

“Love to!”

“Can you walk all that way?”

“I should be fine,” she answered. Then trying to measure the distance, “How far is it?”

“About an eighth mile. Not far,” he smiled. Now he didn’t want her to back out.

“Is it muddy?” she looked skeptical.

“I’ll pull you out if you get stuck,” he promised.

So they walked toward a valley on his land. When they crowned the hill, Lori saw
trees below. “A river!” she exclaimed.

“Yep.” She noticed a bit of motion while her eyes traced the path from the thicket back towards them. Caleb’s arm was extended, offering her his hand to help her down the hill.

“It’s beautiful. I didn’t know a creek ran through here.”

“The fence is at the most beautiful spot on all our land,” Caleb boasted.

“You put a fence in. Why? To ruin the scenery?” Lori criticized.

“Yeah. Just for that.”

That shut Lori up.

Finally they reached the copse by the river. She didn’t get stuck in the mud once. There was a little wooden bridge over the river, but without a rail. For this the cautious host took her hand once again. Before her was a fence around a little cabin. “What’s this?” she exclaimed.

Caleb didn’t answer. He watched the pale tree-shadows wave across her face while she was still taking in the little house. As they passed he gave one of his posts a shove. It was sound. That’s all he needed to check. Lori was drawn towards the house. “How quaint! Can we go in?”

“It’s mine. It’s safe. I’d say so.”

Inside the house was empty. But there were shelves and cupboards, windows and a window seat. “Yours?” she asked, lifting up the lid of the window seat to look at the emptiness inside.

“I can’t live with my parents forever,” he said.

“I figured you’d inherit the farm, since Michael is going into the ministry,” Lori said.

“My parents still live there,” he answered.

“You really are serious about that girl,” the truth dawned on her. She wondered if her presence in this sacred place would be alright with the young lady; maybe she knew her.

He laughed. “Sorry there’s nowhere else to sit,” he said. He folded his jacket into a cushion for the window seat for her.

“I suppose you won’t tell me who she is,” Lori said.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” he asked.

“I can’t imagine any girl not liking it," she encouraged. "It’s a little small, but if you built this – did you?”

Caleb nodded.

“You can add on, then.”

“Do you have a hope chest, Lori?” Caleb asked her quietly. His voice was tender. The way she looked at her life now, it could be hard for her to think about it.

“I do. Don’t think I’ll need it now. I thought about getting some stuff out to just use. I need space to store baby stuff,” she answered.

“What is in it?”

“Pillow shams, quilts, curtains, silverware. Some papers and other stuff. My sewing kit stays in there. I have aprons and potholders and towels marked his and hers,” she smiled at the fond memories of the days she’d spent making those things. “I have a Bible and a journal. The journal…” she caught herself. None of his business. Don’t tell him too much. You’ll get attached. Attached? She was already hooked… to a man who was strongly interested in someone else. That thought worried her. She tried to stand.

“Lori,” Caleb leapt from where he’d been leaning against the wall. “Before we go,” he stopped.

“Uh-huh?” she asked. Just as long as she wasn’t thinking. Keep talking, Caleb.

Was this good timing? Who knows? But he prayed a short prayer and plunged ahead. “I was wondering if you’d be my wife.” Did he just say that?

Lori thought the same thing. She blinked at him, knowing she heard him but uncertain whether he meant it. Slowly she put together all the pieces. All her observations and their conversations came together. And fit. Gradually she became aware he was staring intently at her, biting his lip, wishing to take it back if she was going to say no. He was waiting for an answer. His tension jarred her back to the present. “Wife,” she repeated, just to be sure.

“Lori, I love you,” he said. “I have loved you, a long time. I couldn’t tell you before. It just wasn’t right. But I do. I want you to be my wife. And I can adopt your baby, and it’ll never have to worry about answering questions.”

Lori nodded shortly. Now her head was spinning. She answered his last statement. “So you feel sorry for my baby?”

“No,” he jumped on that thought. He had to repudiate it. “I just want you to know my love doesn’t leave him out. I’ve loved you a lot longer than I’ve known about the baby.”

“How long?” Lori felt it important to have all the facts. She couldn’t count the number of times the pastor had preached on making decisions on facts, not feelings. But her feelings would overwhelm her soon.

“Since you were about seventeen, is when it started. I imagine it was just a crush at first.”

“I’m the girl?”

“You’re the one. You wanted me to tell her, right?” Since she wasn’t running away, he let the grin explode onto his face.

“That’s what I said.”

“What does she say?” Caleb stayed across the room, unwilling to pressure her by being any closer. He was careful not to take liberties that weren’t his.

Lori felt suddenly awkward, being in her future house alone with her future husband. She couldn’t just leave, though, without giving him an answer. She looked outside at the green trees and the new front of rain just beginning to fall through the leaves. Caleb left her to take it all in for a minute. His distance blessed her.

By the time she turned around, Lori was wearing a huge, giving smile. Her posture was confident, but her air was generous. Even before she spoke, he knew. She said with her eyes she was giving him her heart. “I will,” she answered. “Caleb,” he was at her side in a moment. She knew not how he got there. “I love you, too,” she said. Her heart pounded. The baby kicked like a fluttering inside her.

His arms were around her. She felt like a child in his embrace, able to trust, and follow, without fear. Then she also felt like a woman, mature, to be loved by this man. He held her tenderly, but she reflected all in a moment how much he had to offer. Spiritually he was one of the most committed single men she knew. He had wisdom and insight. He prayed all the time. He loved people. Things she’d never allowed herself to notice about his character flooded her memory.

Caleb pulled back. Her face was still smiling, but her eyes were bewildered, searching his for an explanation. But there is no explanation for love. It is a gift of God.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 15

2007-11-07T21:22:00.000-07:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

“Our van can’t break down, not today!” Lori protested. The key turned, but nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. She went back in and called her dad, not stopping to explain to her mom. “The battery is dead, I think. I know. Yes. But I have an appointment.” She tried not to whine. “Ok. I’ll try.”

“What did Dad say?” Mom asked.

“Try to find another ride,” Lori plopped onto the couch, a very ungraceful maneuver when four months pregnant. “Marybelle’s teaching piano today. And I can’t think of anyone else to bother.”
“What about the Donnigans? Caleb drove you before,” Mom suggested. She was trying to be helpful. Lori was trying to deny the possibility of asking them. No excuse came to mind.

Slowly she dialed the phone. “Is Tess there?” she asked Mr. Donnigan.

“Hello, Lori!” Tess said. She sounded breathless. “Good to hear from you.”

“I have a favor to ask, Tess,” Lori gave a look to her mother, whom she knew would disapprove of using the woman’s first name. “I have an appointment with my OB this afternoon and our car is dead. Is there any way you could drive me?” She cringed with being forced to beg a ride. She cringed even more when Tess answered.

“Lori, I’m honestly in the middle of making jelly. I can’t stop. But I could have Caleb shift his chores around and come pick you up. He’s only working on his fence.”

“Oh,” Lori said. She thought for a minute. God would have to understand. He’d have to help her not to overreact. There didn’t seem to be any other choice. “Can he be here in an hour? I was going to do some shopping first, but I can do that another day.”

“I’ll let him know, Lori. Expect him.”

-----------------------------

As soon as they were in the car, Caleb took charge of the conversation. He made her laugh. Having known her for years, he knew what worked. He tore away her defenses. By the time they were done with her appointment, she was even talking about serious stuff.

“Why are girls the only ones whose names can be religious terms? Like Joy or Grace. You never hear boys named those things.”

Caleb suggested, “Maybe boys should be named things like Jubilance and Justice. Those are stronger names, more rambunctious as we tend to be.” His grin set her off.

She smiled. The smile got wider. Then she giggled. Giggles turned to laughter. She gave herself up. It was contagious. He pulled off on a side dirt road to laugh too. “What are we laughing at?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she wiped tears from her eyes.

“Look,” he said in a hushed tone. “It’s raining.”

“Rain must be sacred to a farmer. I love rain just for its own sake.”

“Have you ever been in love?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” she laughed nervously.

“Love. Not a crush. Real soul-giving love, like the married people talk about.”

“You mean engaged people. Married ones tend to hush up.”

“My parents don’t. I’ve heard their love story over and over. But don’t change the subject.”

“No, not real love. I figure God expects a girl to wait until she’s told she’s loved. Women by nature respond.” She was hinting. Stop it. Why was he making her think of these things around him? Despite her confession to Marybelle, she was now convinced she hadn’t really been in love. God was faithfully helping her to keep her heart in check on this trip.

“That makes sense.”

“What about you?” She couldn’t believe she asked that; she didn’t want to know.

“There’s a girl I thought about that way. You knew that. Last time…” he confessed.

“Yeah.” Lori decided not to pry. The silence became unbearable, though, so she blurted out, “Did you tell her? Why don’t you court her?”

Caleb got a funny grin, which she didn’t see, since she was avoiding looking at him. She focused on the crystal in her ring. “I felt like she wasn’t ready yet. She was too young.”

“So you didn’t tell her?”

“No.”

“You should tell her.”

“I thought maybe I’d hint first,” Caleb said. She was so oblivious he meant her.

“Girls don’t get hints so well. Leastwise we do, but we think everything is a hint so it’s the same as missing them altogether. You should tell her,” she repeated.

“I’m afraid she wouldn’t have me.”

“Only one way to find out.” It felt easier to think of him attached to another girl. She hoped she was doing her a favor by encouraging him. “What are you waiting for? Marriage is a good thing to start early.”

“Yeah.”

“So you will?” Lori asked.

“What?”

“Tell her next time you see her?”

Caleb smiled and took the lead away from his friend. “I’ll wait on God to let me know timing, if that’s all right.”

Lori sat quiet with her thoughts, then laughed.

“What?”

“It’s just funny to think of you with a girl,” she said. “Or married. But you like kids, right?”

His heart pounded. How could she not see? But then he hoped she didn’t see. He was trying not to let her know.

“Great. You think too much. You should just be in the moment.”

“La ti da. Going,” she checked his speedometer and raised her eyes to the roof, “sixty-five miles per hour on the highway in a blue, um,” she halted.

“Ford,” he helped.

She continued her “in the moment” narration most of the rest of the way home. He let her. She could be very observant. He kept his own narration running in his own mind. Driving Lori home. Lori talking. Soft, lilting voice. Hands gesturing at the details she was describing. A little ring reflecting the sunset onto his dashboard. Easing off the gas to make her happy, and to draw the trip out a little. Hope she doesn’t notice. How can a guy get so much pleasure out of listening to a girl ramble? Does my dad still love to hear mom ramble? I always assumed guys just tuned it out or got irritated. Maybe that’s only when she’s talking about all she wants you to do. Lori wants me to tell the girl I love that I love her. Not yet. Nope. Not this moment.

To God be all glory.

Witness from Ephesus

2007-10-22T00:05:00.000-06:00

Note: This was written in answer to "How can we know the Bible was true?" The answer the story illustrates is that if when the New Testament was written and circulated, it had not been true, there would have been witnesses around who would utterly discredit the testimony of Paul and the other authors.

This was not the case. Still living witnesses of Jesus' life and the early ministry of the Church rather supported the words of Paul and Peter. These apostles even appealed to this argument as proof of their authority. God chose certain men to deliver to us the specific words He wanted in the Bible. Many at the time were witnesses to the same events, and believed the same theology.

“There,” said Paul. “All done.” He reached for the manuscripts his secretary handed him. “Lord Jesus,” they prayed, “use these simple words to speak truth to the people of Corinth. Help them to be impresssed by your love for them. Cleanse them from the sins they keep doing. I pray, Lord, for my messenger. Help him to reach Corinth safely. Let him minister to Your saints there.”

The messenger left early the next morning with the blessings of the church at Ephesus. The letter to the Corinthians remained unsealed. He opened it and began to read to pass the weary hours of his journey.

“Paul, called to be an apostle…” he read. Once, he had visited Ananias in Damascus. The man who witnessed the transformation of Saur from Tarsus, Ananias held Paul (who had changed his name from Saul) as a specially called apostle of Christ. The messenger read on.

Later in the day, he again stopped to remember. “For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified…” Jesus the Messiah, in Greek translated “Christ,” had been crucified. The messenger was one of over 500 witnesses who had seen the marks from the nails in Jesus’ hands. Truly the sight had been moving. His own life had been changed forever.

The further the messenger went from Ephesus, the faster he read. “For you have been bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body.” Paul didn’t take a breath most days without the purpose of glorifying God. In the devastating moments when he did reveal pride or impatience, Paul was in tears over the price his Lord paid. The eternal image of Christ’s wounded hands always returned to break his heart.

“And that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day, according to the Scriptures.” Joseph of Arimathea died two weeks before the messenger set out. A great memorial had been made for him. The Pharisees remembered what he had done for God. Christians remembered what God did for him. Then he was buried in his tomb.

The prophet, Isaiah, spoke of Messiah being buried with the rich at His death. Joseph’s tomb had been Jesus’ resting place. Yet now Joseph himself resided there – alone. He became an eternal witness to the truth of the prophet and of the resurrection.

Only four days from Ephesus, with most of his trip still to go, the messenger finished reading Paul’s letter. The greetings at the end were like a list of beloved friends. He remembered the party they had thrown when Stephanus, Fortunatus, and Achaicus came to them. Their news excited Paul. Nights were spent in fellowship and study of the Scriptures for weeks afterward. Would such a party be given for him?

As the trip progressed, the messenger read the letter over and over until some parts were burned into his mind and written on his heart. Sometimes he would read passages out loud to those who traveled with him. “Paul writes truth,” reported an elderly woman. “My son in Corinth mentioned many of those things.”

“Ma’am, do you think people will still believe him in a hundred years?”

“Why not,” she chuckled. “I believe it – and I would know. If we who know accept it, so should our children and grandchildren. Paul is a messenger of God. He wrote the truth. How else will they know the truth?”

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 14

2007-10-21T23:50:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

“You again?” Caleb teased next time he saw Lori shopping. He was at peace with his plans at the moment. God would take care of her heart. When the timing was right, Caleb would talk to her dad, and then to her. And life would be good. Mean time, they were friends, and he could act like one.

Lori, on the other hand, was in defense mode. Not defense against him, but against her own foolish heart. She twisted a ring on her right hand. The heart-shaped stone reminded her to place her heart in God’s hands. She quoted Song of Solomon 2:7 to herself before she answered. “Hello,” was all she said.

“Not chatty today? That’s ok. It’s probably the weather.” Caleb eyed the dull grey sky. “Where’s your coat?”

“My sweater is quite warm, thank you. I’m carrying a heater, you may recall.”

He thought for a moment what she meant. “The baby? It’s a heater?”

She rolled her eyes. Guys, especially single ones, could be dense.

“I’m headed to the hardware store. Want to come?” Before she could say no, he rather corralled her towards the storefront down the road.

“For what are you looking?” she asked.

“I need some tools. We’re building a fence, actually. And our posthole digger fell to pieces. It’s the only one my dad has owned. About time to replace it.”

Lori pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. He looked like he might have been planning to take one of them. She didn’t think she could handle that. “Caleb,” she said, suddenly brave. “If you keep running around town with me, people will talk.”

“What will they say?” he asked mischievously.

“They’ll think we’re, I don’t know, a couple.”

“Come on, Lori. We’re just friends. No one suspects you of romantic intentions right now. It’s too weird to them. It’s weird to you, too, remember? You said you didn’t expect anyone would marry you.”

“I wasn’t talking about marriage,” Lori defended quickly.

“Hm.”

They found the posthole diggers. “Need anything here?” he asked her before they reached the cash register.

“At the hardware store?” she asked.

“They sell candles, and candy. I don’t know. I buy lots of stuff here; but then I’m always here,” Caleb grinned.

“No thanks.”

Outside the store he said good-bye. No hand shake. No hug. Just good-bye. A little wave. And another few days’ thinking for them both.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 13

2007-10-07T17:32:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

“Marybelle,” Lori phoned. “Can you come over?”

“I might have to bring my siblings. They can play outside if you need to talk,” her friend offered.

“It’s not too cold?”

“They have coats.”

When Marybelle got to Lori’s house an hour later, she had two kids with her and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Waving them for Lori to smell, she asked, “You’re not morning-sick are you?”

“Nope. I’m past that part. It wasn’t too bad even when I did get it. Hopefully that’s not a bad sign,” Lori worried.

“What’s up?” Marybelle asked, pointing the children to the dog running back and forth in the yard hoping for companionship.

“I couldn’t sleep last night. I wanted to call you, but sometimes when that happens late at night I figure God would rather I pray.”

“My parents probably appreciate that,” Marybelle said.

“I think I’m in love.”

“Pardon?”

“I never thought a whole lot about him before, but now… What am I supposed to do?” Lori begged.

“Can you tell me who it is?” Marybelle was helping herself to the cups in the cupboard casually.

“Caleb Donnigan," Lori blurted, then ducked into the refrigerator for the milk.

“Really? Mister ‘I ran into him and haven’t stopped thinking of him since’?” she teased.

“That wasn’t serious. This is. He’s too nice to me. And I tell myself it’s just because he feels sorry for me. Good Christian charity. But then he looks at me sometimes, and I want to melt. I say the stupidest things around him.”

“So you don’t mean a crush,” Marybelle unwrapped the cookies, intensifying the fresh, gooey chocolate smell. It wasn’t a question.

The expectant mother slid the glass of milk across the counter with a coy spin, “Well…” Even after all the experience protecting her heart, the flutter of romance was something Lori relished.

“Lori!”

“I don’t know. I mean it’s unreasonable. I just like being with him, and he’s so nice, and I could do what his mom does for the rest of my life and be perfectly happy.”

Resisting the temptation to add that the young man wasn't bad looking, either, Marybelle did what a friend does. “That’s not true. Contentment comes from God, not circumstances.”

“Yeah. I know.” Lori took a deep breath to calm down. "Ok."

“What sort of stupid things?” Marybelle giggled. Life was changing. Circumstances and feelings were getting more serious. A girl still needed her girlfriend, though.

“I just can’t help but answer him absolutely truthfully," Lori confessed, using her blustering energy to heft her subtly plump frame onto the counter. "Even if it’s awkward. And then when I answer, it doesn’t feel awkward. He doesn’t make me feel like I shouldn’t have said what I did. He just listens.” She continued her defense.

“So he’s a nice guy. All the girls know that. He is your friend. You’ve known him from church for forever.” The snacks passed out, Marybelle leaned back in the high chair pulled up to the counter to watch her friend.

“I know. That’s what I said at first. Am I just being dumb? I mean, putting myself into situations that tempt me to think about him in a romantic way?”

Marybelle arched her eyebrows, and said as elegantly as possible through her mouthful of cookie, “Such as?”

“He drove me to a doctor’s appointment. It wasn’t a big deal. He was just doing a favor because our car was in use elsewhere. But it was just the two of us.”

“So it was a big deal?”

“Not if that was all. I had dinner at his house last night,” Lori added.

“With his family.”

“Yes. They’re so nice. Sometimes I think they’re hinting, and other times I think I want them to be hinting so I’m hallucinating.”

“Lori, I’ve known you a long time. I’ve heard these things before from you,” Marybelle warned.

“I thought I was over that stage.”

“You thought because you’re pregnant you would stop being a romantic? It’s part of who you are.”

Lori nodded. She pulled the drawstrings of the hoodie she had on. “It doesn’t seem fair that I should be tempted and tried in all these other ways and in that way too.”

“But come on, Lori; you’re a pro at handling crushes. You are always spouting verses that tell us at small group how to handle our hearts.”

“Would you pray for me, though, Marybelle? I know this restlessness always comes back to faith. I’m worried about what my life will look like for the rest of it, and I just want answers. I don’t need any more than God, though. You’re right,” Lori coached herself. Marybelle pushed the plate of cookies back across the counter to her.

To God be all glory.

The Fingerpaint Life

2007-10-02T00:38:00.000-06:00

The boy he had a cross-shaped stamp
Filled with ink inside.
He used his cross-stamp everyday,
And cared for it with pride.

He would stamp everything he did,
With the symbol his stamp produced.
Until one day his precious stamp,
His precious stamp, it…
Broke.

The ink, ran over the paper,
The stamp was useless now.
He had to send his message still,
But with all this mess, well, how?

The boy sat still, and staring.
At the problem before him.
And slowly his hand moved forward,
With a deep-joy, kind of grin.

His fingers touched the spilt blue ink
And began to swirl around.
Before he knew it, what lay there?
On the page he found…

A cross, a cross, so beautiful,
With swirls springing from the mess.
It was the same, but meant so much more,
Than what he’d called before, “success.”

And what- near the end of each swirl of blue,
What was that he now saw?
His very own fine fingerprints,
He then sat back in awe

With hands held up he saw his fingerTIPS,
Blue from the art he had made.
This gift he was about to give,
Was on himself displayed.

He’d never done something like this before,
The note he wrote that day,
Was the first note he ever wrote to God,
It said, “God, I just wanted to say…”

“To say, ‘Thank You.’” Yes.
That’s all it really said,
And where he’d usually stamp his stamp,
Was a fingerprint cross instead.

He sent the note to Jesus,
He sent it that same day,
And when he washed his hands that night,
The blue began to fade.

He decided then that, to remember,
He would paint frequently.
Not with brushes, or with stamps,
But with his fingers, personally.

Lori's Choice Part 12

2007-09-27T23:50:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

After dinner Mr. Donnigan, Caleb, and Ryan went out to do evening chores. The women cleared the table together and washed the dishes. They chatted about this and that before Tess brought up their earlier conversation. “Caleb interrupted us before dinner. You were saying you didn’t think a man should be expected to marry a girl like you. Did you mean a girl with your personality and convictions or a girl with a baby?”

Lori smiled patronizingly. So she was going to ask nosy questions. “A baby.”

“I disagree. Some guys are drawn to the ready-made family. I’ve seen it. Maybe God made it that way, since it is His plan for young widows to marry. You’re not a widow, I know, but you might as well be. That’s how the church is looking at it. I think they’re right. It would probably be good for you to marry,” she encouraged.

“Pastor Greg said that, too. But I don’t have the stamina to hope for that without pining for that. I still could not ask a man to forsake all others for me. Not unless I was absolutely certain it was the will of God. And I can’t pursue that by any means. I just have to wait on God.” Even as she spoke to Mrs. Donnigan she coached herself. She had to fight the temptation. It wasn’t healthy.

“If a man were to pursue you, though, you wouldn’t refuse?” Tess asked again.

How was this any of her business? If one of her sons was interested it would be. But if so it was unfair for her to raise her hopes without something more definite. “I don’t want to be married because someone pitied me or felt it his duty.”

Tess frowned. Her soapy hand paused in the dishwater. “I’m an advocate for humility, but you have to face the facts. You are an able, pretty, good woman who loves God and has a lot of love to offer everyone she meets. Why wouldn’t you expect someone to just fall in love with you?”

“I used to know those things. I’m a hopeless romantic, too,” Lori smiled at the kindred spirit she saw beside her. “I was. Life is different. That’s ok.” Her smile weakened.

Tess decided she’d said enough. She knew plenty of things to pray. If her son was going to pursue her, he’d have a bit of work to do. It appeared that even if Lori loved him, she wasn’t going to agree to a courtship or marriage without some definite proof of Caleb’s attraction.

Lori fell asleep on the way home, leaning against the window of Caleb’s pickup. He let her rest to the sound of soft music on his radio. At the church he roused her. “Are you all right driving home?”

“Sure. I’ll just turn on some music.”

“The music has been on, Lori.” He smiled.

“Loud.”

“Ok. Be safe.”

“I will,” she promised. “Bye. Thanks.”

She lied about the music. She prayed aloud all the way home. It wasn’t fair. Still. He was too nice to her. And she couldn’t just say no. But if he didn’t mean any more by it, she hoped he’d back off. She hoped his whole family would back off. There was such a thing as falling in love with a family, too.

To God be all glory.

Cool Day in Capernaum

2007-09-23T00:50:00.000-06:00

It was a cool day in Capernaum. The wind blew from the south over the Sea of Galilee. The fishermen were ashore now, nearly done selling their day’s catch. Peter made his way along the familiar harbor, watching the sunset reflected in the waves of the lake.

Memories of the old days: fishing on the sea and living a simple, stable life flooded his thoughts. It had been a day like any other when he and Andrew had first met Jesus, but in that instant, his life had been turned up-side-down. Now they were all going up to Jerusalem in a few days and his hopes were high. Rumors, like the summer flies on the plains, were multiplying across the land that Jesus was the Messiah who would free their people and set up His kingdom on earth. Romans authorities were very unsettled over this Jewish sentiment.

Maybe that was why Peter tried to blend in with those tending their nets when he saw several Roman tax collectors heading for him. Before, he would have fit perfectly among the tackle and boats. Now he stood out, apparently, because the tax collectors continued directly towards him. Peter believed Jesus was the Christ and was eager to see Him set up His kingdom. With all Jesus had been saying these last few days about betrayal and death, though, Peter wasn’t sure Jesus shared his expectations. A haughty voice, tainted with the aristocratic accent of the empire's capital, interrupted his thoughts: “Doesn’t your Teacher pay the temple tax?” they asked, implying He should pay.

“Yes, He does,” answered Peter, wondering where on earth Jesus would get the two drachmas to pay it. When Jesus said he didn't have any place to lay his head, the empty purse went without saying. Judas kept poor collections that Jesus wouldn't think of using for Himself. They camped outside, and some wealthy friends made sure they had enough food. Some days there was barely enough. Peter hurried back to the house where Jesus and His disciples were staying. Before he could even report the bad news, Jesus was asking Peter about it in His simple, profound way. “What do you think, Simon? From whom do the kings of earth collect duty and taxes – from their own sons or from others?”

When Peter calmed himself enough to consider the well-paced question, he replied, “From others,” and wondered where Jesus was going with the simple question. Jesus said, “Then the sons are exempt,” and a smile played on His lips and love danced in His eyes at the familiar, confused expression on Peter’s face.

“...but so that we may not offend them, go to the lake and throw out your line,” Jesus continued, His expression changing to sadness. “Take the first fish you catch; open its mouth and you will find a four-drachma coin. Take it and give it to them for My tax and yours.” Peter put his coat back on, grabbed his line, and resumed his scrambled mood, bumping the doorframe on his way out.

As he passed the staring people and sat down beside the lake, Peter began to wonder if this, like almost everything else Jesus said, meant something more. On the surface, it appeared to be directives for paying a tax, and his tax with it (which was nice), but Peter liked to try to find the meaning of the rest of Jesus’ riddling words when he had the time. Was He saying that He was a prince? And if so, was He paying the tax because His kingdom on earth wasn’t coming yet? Or was He saying His kingdom was already here?

A fish bit and Peter left his questions unanswered to catch the tax fish.

Peter returned after delivering the payment to find Jesus teaching in the house. Jesus spoke of ‘your brother’s sins,’ and it aroused an old question in Peter’s mind. When Jesus was done with His lesson, Peter asked Him, “Lord,” and Jesus turned His gentle eyes on Peter; how he loved students with questions! “How many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?”

Jesus glanced at Andrew, who was glaring at his brother, and smiled. His own half-brothers were not nearly so bold. These men, whose brotherhood was baked by nights on the trying sea, had no concept of restraint. “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.” Andrew looked relieved; the Teacher was on his side. Then Jesus told them a story to illustrate. Peter listened eagerly, hoping for the zinger that would stop Andrew from smirking. It never came. “This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother from your heart,” Jesus closed.

The next morning, early, Jesus, His disciples, and large crowds went from Galilee to Judea across the Jordan. After a few days’ teaching there, the group continued on their way through Jericho towards Jerusalem. With each passing day, hopes rose, thinking the promised kingdom had come.

Everyone was expecting Jesus to declare himself. James and John’s mother even asked for her sons to hold high office in Jesus’ coming kingdom. Jesus handled all the questions, requests, and hopes in His loving way, but no matter how many times He rebuked them or tried to calm their hopes with the truth, they refused to listen. They were convinced.

When the group was near Jerusalem, at Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, they halted and Jesus sent two disciples ahead to find Him a donkey’s colt on which to ride in. The disciples went away quickly and accomplished their secret mission. In the mean time, most of the crowds made their way into Jerusalem and cut down branches as they went to spread on the road.

People stopped what they were doing and looked up to see a man, riding on a donkey so small and slow that it would hardly be thought worthy of a passenger, coming down the road amid the excited shouts of thousands. Jesus rode quietly, troubled by the knowledge that very soon He would be alone and these cheering crowds would no longer cheer. The rest of the city, filled with more and less informed people who had come for Passover, wondered who He really was and what He would do at the feast.

To God be all glory.

Low Low Price

2007-09-23T00:38:00.000-06:00

Characters: Salesman, Skater, Car-Buyer, Disneyland Vacationer, Hockey Fan, Christian

Props: Skateboard, Picture of a Corvette, Disneyland Brochure, 3 Sports big rivalry Tickets, Bible, $5, $300, $50, $2, Super Low Low Price Store Sign, Kool-aid cup w/ straw, Hawaiian shirt, Sports Jersey

The salesman waits in the “Super Low,Low Price Bargain Closeout Store.” The skater walks in, almost with a slide in his step, as though he were skateboarding – minus the board.

Salesman: What super low, low price bargain can I get for you today?

Skater: Man, I’m looking for a new board. Mine’s broken.

Salesman: I’ve just the thing for you. We have a top of the line skateboard brand new from Brother’s Boards. Only $5.

Skater: $5?! Dude. Those boards run like twenty times that price. What a great deal! But, you know, $5 would make my wallet feel a little lighter, and I could be putting it towards a board more on my budget. But, I can just see me doing all the stunts on the new board. (Skater spins one of the wheels with his finger, longingly.) Ok, I’ll take it.
Skater hands over the $5 bill and skates out looking complete. The car-buyer passes him, on his way in.

Salesman: What super low, low price bargain can I get for you today?

Car-buyer: I really wanted to see what new cars you had. Anything in red?

Salesman: You’ve come to the right place. In our garage right now we have a 2003 Corvette – in red!

Car-buyer: That sounds fabulous, but I’m sure I don’t have that kind of money.

Salesman: Nonsense. This bargain is only $300 dollars.

Car-buyer: $300! Does it work?

Salesman: Perfect working order, with stereo and leather seats. Are you interested?
Car-buyer: Well, I am used to driving my grey and brown (brown from the rust) Volkswagon. It would be a big change to drive a red corvette. What would people say? I mean, giving up the car I’ve had for over a year… I just don’t know.

Salesman: This is a great deal. Don’t let it slip away. Maybe people will say that you’re awesome, that you made a change for the better.

Car-buyer: Ok, I’ll take it. Let me get my checkbook.
The vacationer comes in wearing a Hawaiian T-shirt and sipping Kool-aid. She heads straight to the salesman.

Vacationer: I’d like to go to Disneyland. Do you have any good deals?

Salesman: As a matter of fact, we were just notified of a special low, low price package to Disneyland. It includes a week at the park with airfare and hotels. Food and Mickey Mouse ears not included.

Vacationer: Sounds good. How much?

Salesman: $50.

Vacationer: That’s just too good to be true. This has got to be a scam.

Salesman: No, this is our bargain low, low price. Call Disneyland. Ask them. Talk to Donald Duck, or Cinderella. They can tell you. This is for real.

Vacationer: Alright, it’s a deal too good to pass up. $50.
They finish the vacation transaction and the vacationer skips out singing “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, to Disneyland I go…” In comes a serious Avalanche fan, with a jersey and hat and everything.

Salesman: Sir, may I direct you to the sports section? Looking for a low, low priced souvenir?

Fan: No, I need tickets. I promised my sons tickets to the game tonight, but they’re sold out at Ticketmaster.

Salesman: No problem. I have a couple tickets here at $2 a seat, and these aren’t just any seats, they’re close!

Fan: $200 per seat…

Salesman: No, TWO DOLLARS.

Fan: That’s a ridiculous price. What are you trying to do, let just anyone into these games? They’re for serious fans. Are you trying to devalue our team?

Salesman: No sir. We’re just trying to give you a bargain, closeout price. And you’re the lucky customer.

Fan: This isn’t the way tickets are sold. It’s not traditional. It goes against my principle to pay such a small price.

Salesman (Waving the three available tickets in front of the fan’s nose): But these are Avalanche versus Redwing tickets!

Fan: O-o-oh. Ok. I’ll take them – for my sons. If it were just me, I wouldn’t.
As soon as the fan has the tickets, he looks very pleased with himself.

Salesman (muttering under his breath): I bet he doesn’t even have sons. (turning towards the door) Is there anything I can help you with, ma’am?

Christian: I’m willing to pay anything, but, well, my request is kind of specific, and I’m afraid that it will cause too much change, or that my friends won’t understand, or that it won’t last or be real – or that my traditions will have to be broken.

Salesman: I understand, but I’ll try to help. What are you looking for?

Christian: I’m a Christian, so I want to be a good witness, but I need someone who will be with me to help me when I am tempted, and – and someone to listen to all my problems, any time. I need someone to teach me what decisions I should make. Have anything?

Salesman: We might have something. Let me check the back room here. Ah, yes. Here. Jesus Christ. Available as a package deal with a Bible. It’s kind of part of the price.

Christian (flinching): And what is the price?

Salesman: To spend time each day reading this Bible, and time each day praying to Jesus. All He asks is that you spend time with Him.

Christian: That’s all? This is a steal! How can you afford to give me all that just for my time each day?

Salesman: I can’t. But it’s pre-paid by a generous contributor. Jesus Christ paid for it in advance.

Christian (whispering): What did it cost Him?

Salesman: Everything.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 11

2007-09-17T09:42:00.001-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

“Mom!” Caleb called. He took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair to tame the wacky curls. Lori smiled to herself at his lack of success in that department. “We have a guest. Can we have something to drink?” He was still yelling. His echoing voice reached the back of the house.

Tess came out of the bathroom wearing a cleaning apron and a scarf around her hair. “Well, let me wash my hands and I’ll whip you up some lemonade.” She tugged at the knot in her scarf. “Hi, Lori.” Her smile was the warmest Lori had ever known. All her life Lori had felt like if she needed a big hug, no questions asked, Tess would be the woman to see. She wasn’t big or boisterous as farmer’s wives were reputed to be. Nevertheless Lori had never indulged her confidence by asking for a hug. Filling a pitcher with cool well water pumped into the kitchen, Tess chatted about her chores. Caleb snuck out to clean up.

“I was going to tell that boy he was a sight. He’s been cleaning the church all day. At least I thought he was. Where’d he find you?” Tess asked.

“Oh, Mrs. Donnigan, you’re so honest and to the point. But yes, I can attest to the fact that he was cleaning. When I found him he’d just delivered the vacuum to the closet,” Lori assured her.

“I hope you weren’t up there working. A girl in your state should be busy making baby blankets and little clothes and things. And rest. Rest is important. And laughter. You do laugh, right?” She handed her a cup filled with a sweet lemonade that just barely grabbed at the tongue with a touch of tartness.

“Of course, Mrs. Donnigan.”

“Lori, my name is Tess. Little kids call me Mrs. Donnigan. When girls your age do it, it makes me feel old.”

Lori smiled and sipped her drink. “It is very kind of you to drop your chores to sit with me. I mean, I wasn’t expected.”

Tess’s eyes twinkled. Perhaps she was expected. “Caleb knows that I love company. I would welcome surprise guests at two in the morning. It’s fun. And you, maybe you need a bit more visiting than you’ve been doing these few months.”

Caleb came back ready for his own cold drink. “How was your day?” he asked, suddenly shy around Lori. While he was gone he had realized how obvious he looked, at least to his mom. Had Lori caught on? He snuck a glance at her to check. Her eyes were on him even though Tess was answering his question.

Lori’s heart skipped a beat. The look Caleb gave her was too sweet, too much like the little moments in movies you only catch the hundredth time you watch it. And she’d caught it right away! She could live for such looks.

Tess gave up actually answering, realizing all of a sudden that neither of her audience would benefit from any information she was saying. They were not hearing a word. Caleb looked at Lori, then worked hard at avoiding her eyes until he grew curious enough to look her way again. Mrs. Donnigan just watched the process repeat itself. If they went on like this for hours, and she felt somehow they could, they would be thoroughly in love by the end of the evening. Feeling she should do something to at least make her son aware this was a danger, she addressed him directly, “Caleb, Ryan might need some help. He decided now was a good time to reorganize the barn. Would you check?”

Lori’s attention shifted immediately back to her hostess. “Those boys. So industrious. Always improving, innovating, planning. Michael, too. He’ll call home from school. I’ll ask about his Old Testament Survey class and then he’ll say, ‘I was thinking about the heifer born this summer…’ I don’t expect he’ll ever live at home again, but he’ll always care. It’s a hard habit to break. Before we owned this place I was always getting that from their dad. ‘Tess,’ he’d say, ‘What if we have chickens? Would you like that? What do chickens eat?’ Till when we started our little ranch he had all the plans so worked out in his head that it went right smoothly. And now my boys have grown up with that. It’s like breathing to them. To some city folks it is boring to check everyday on the price of stock – animal stock, mind you. But to me it is the sweetness of home.”

Lori nodded, wishing that she were Tess’s daughter. She could live here in this little house, have good conversation, and never wish to go anywhere. “Dad talks about his business a bit, but I don’t understand it. Maybe it’s the difference between sons and daughters.”

“Farming or ranching – they’re a different life altogether. It’s more an inheritance than any profession I know, save maybe preaching the gospel. I know Timothy wasn’t Paul’s biological son, but it’s not a mistake Paul calls him his ‘son in the faith.’” Tess went to the refrigerator. “You don’t mind if I get started on dinner? What are your interests, Lori?”

It was like Lori belonged there but was altogether new to Tess. She shrugged. Talking about dreams was easy with her girlfriends. With other people she always had to get warmed up. “I always intended to be a wife and a mom. Since I got pregnant I’ve just been waiting to see what else God will change. He’s been doing a lot of that.” Her voice was sarcastic and not entirely happy.

“Do you like those changes, Lori? Do you welcome them? Or are you afraid?”

So that’s where Caleb got his penetrating looks. “I guess I have been afraid. It’s hard to be afraid now, though. I don’t have a lot left to lose.”

“You will soon, honey. Babies are a frightfully precious thing. You decided to keep yours, didn’t you?” Tess asked.

“Ok, so I am already afraid to lose that. I meant more like dreams.”

“You have half your dream you told me about. You’re going to be a mom. And there could still be the wife part down the road somewhere,” the woman suggested.

Caleb must not like her, then. That was ok. She didn’t expect it, did she? He couldn’t feel what he appeared to feel sometimes without his mom knowing. “I can’t count on it. I could never ask that of any man I cared about,” Lori offered. If he didn’t care for her, it didn’t matter she was saying this.

“Never ask what?” Caleb was back in the house. The front door closed behind him.

Lori jumped. She reviewed her conversation to make sure she hadn’t said anything obvious. Right. She hadn’t named names. Caleb was waiting for an answer. He came and sat down in the chair next to her.

Tess eyed them again from the stove. Should she intervene? She could ask about Ryan’s progress. Something held her back.

“Oh, we were just talking,” Lori said. Tess breathed a sigh of relief. Caleb pressed her, “Yes, I know. About what, Lori?”

She melted when he used her name. “I was telling your mom,” she took a deep breath, “that in my state I can’t expect any man to want to marry me. So I’m learning to accept that of God.”

Caleb sat in shock. He looked at his mom, who was browning some beef with her head twisted far away from his pleading eyes. “Lori,” he began.

“Oh, now that was a trip,” Mr. Donnigan stepped in the garage door into the kitchen, pulling off gloves. “Company!” he declared. “I didn’t see an extra car.” Looking closer, and noticing his son sitting near the guest, he added, “Oh. I’ll go wash.” He raised his eyes at Tess.

“Lori,” she asked, “Could you watch this for me? I have to ask him something.”

Caleb watched her take over his mom’s cooking. Still his heart felt squeezed with her revelation, more even than when she’d admitted to him she was expecting. “Can you stay to dinner?”

“I was wondering when you planned to take me home. I am kind of captive here,” Lori said. She kept her eyes on the meal. “Not that I mind.”

“Name the time. I’m at your service. But you’re welcome to stay for supper. Mom hasn’t adjusted to not having Michael around to cook for since the summer. She always cooks extra.”

Lori laughed. “I’ll have to call my parents. They’re probably already worried.”

“Do you think they’ll mind? I can take you back anytime.” Caleb was eager to please. His mind still raced for a way to let her know she shouldn’t give up hope of marrying without giving himself away.

“I’ll call and find out, as soon as your mom gets back. Unless you know how to brown hamburger.” She held out the wooden spoon she was using.

“No, I’m hungry for woman’s cooking. Not mine. Oh no. I cook two things. Bacon and grilled cheese,” Caleb laughed.

“Really? That’s an unusual combination,” Lori observed.

“I had to survive home ec somehow.”

“Home ec, huh?”

Caleb chided her for her memory. “I’m sure you were there when I was talking about the cake. Remember? At Bible study?”

Mr. Donnigan returned with his wife in tow. “Are you staying for supper?”

She smiled sidelong at Caleb. ‘Stay to dinner’ sounded a little formal. Was he trying to impress her? Never mind. “I have to check with my parents,” she answered. “Sounds so silly. A twenty-year-old asking her parents for permission to visit a friend for supper. But I don’t want them to worry.”

“Phone’s over there,” Tess pointed.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 10

2007-09-12T21:42:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

The vacuuming finished, Caleb resolved to ask for advice. Someone had to hear his heart, more than God. God was already at work, perhaps, but Caleb needed peace about the next step. He wound the cord onto the handle of the vacuum and wheeled it to the janitorial closet.

A large window in the hall let Caleb see into the parking lot. He thought to see which pastors were in the office. The office wing ahead was relatively empty. But there were a few cars in the parking lot. Pastor Greg’s car was present, and since he was only a few years older than Caleb, he thought he would be ablest to understand his predicament. A minivan was parked next to his car. Straining for the details as he walked, he decided it probably was. Just what he needed. Lori was there, at the church.

In fact, while he was staring out the window, she herself appeared in the hallway. In a minute she was next to him, looking out the window with mirror intensity. Finally he looked up to realize she was there. She looked small, standing so close to him, imitating him. And when he managed to get a ‘hello’ out, her reply was strained. He could see it in the way she diverted her eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked her at last.

“I think I’ll go pray for a while. Is the sanctuary open?” Lori asked.

“No, but I’ll loan you my key. It should be a very clean sanctuary.”

“Cleaning?” she smiled, and his heart beat faster.

“Yeah. Now I’m just going to stop in to talk to Pastor Greg for a minute. I’ll pick up my key before I leave.”

“Ok.”

A short rap on the open door brought Pastor Greg around from his thinking spot at the window. “Caleb!” he said. “You startled me. What can I do for you?”

“Greg, I need someone to listen. Someone who can hear me out without judging and without letting me get away with any funny business.”

“Funny business?”

“Never mind. I have a problem,” Caleb confessed. He sat down heavily.

Pastor Greg joined him. “So I gathered.”

“Would you say it is wrong to marry a girl who already has a baby?”

“Like Joseph?”

“Never thought of that.”

“You mean Lori?” Pastor Greg tried to keep his voice calm. He’d prayed, but he didn’t expect the answer to walk through his door not five minutes later.

“I guess that’s a giveaway, huh?”

“She’s the only girl I know you could have in mind.”

“I’ve sort of thought of courting her before, but I’ve been busy, and she’s been young. Time got away from me this last year, and now she’s like this. Do you think it would be wrong now? Am I too late?” Caleb asked the last question and held his breath, waiting.

“I wouldn’t say so. It has its unique difficulties, but I would say God would approve.” Pastor Greg hesitated before adding, “I’ve been praying for just that. It seems it would be best for the child to not have to answer those questions.”

“You think she’d welcome a courtship right now?” Caleb asked the question that gave him second-most anxiety.

“The parents of the children in my ministry have asked her to step down. I expected when I met with her today that she would be very upset, but I find that she took it all with a smile and a nod, as though she were the one in control and expecting everything. I can’t say whether she would ever have welcomed a courtship, or ever will. Girls like that tend to be willing to keep God as their single focus. But I did rather put the idea into her head today. In other words, there are some things that would make me say yes, and others no. So I don’t know.” Pastor Greg was not one for sitting. He swung his swivel chair back and forth as he’d seen dozens of children do since he took the job.

“Thanks. You’ve been a great encouragement. I felt like I needed to tell someone, do that act, to make it more real that I really am feeling this and have to do something about it.”

Pastor Greg whistled a few bars of an old tune. Then he waited for a response as though he’d made a stunning statement. Caleb blinked at him. Oh well. “Always let your conscience be your guide. Conscience. Not feelings. God. Love and attraction are good, useful, and often necessary, but they alone cannot tell us what to do.”

Caleb nodded and left. “I have to get my keys,” he said as he left the office.

Lori sat on the front row staring at a corner of the ceiling behind the baptistry. Her shoulders trembled. Before he approached, Caleb wondered whether she had been acting for the pastor, to make him feel better. If not, why was she crying now? She said she had come to pray, but she looked upset even then. Uncertain whether it was quite appropriate for him to be talking to her alone, he sat at the back of the room and prayed a bit himself.

Lori’s eyes were fixed unseeing on the corner of the ceiling. In her hand the metal keys were wet with sweat. Almost her hand could taste the metal. She hoped keys couldn’t rust too quickly. Absent-mindedly, she wiped the moisture on her skirt. Couldn't give Caleb his keys back all clammy like that. Her shoulders heaved once. Caleb. Once she would have considered that he could be the one. She had considered it. Never very in depth. Now, now when she had no expectations for marriage ever, she was more attracted to him. Why did he have to always be around? Why was he so nice to her? Why couldn’t everyone just let her be alone for the rest of her life and leave it at that? She let out a soft sob.

Hearing that sob stung Caleb’s heart. If there was something he could do to soothe her, he would. God was watching. They were in church, after all. And it wasn’t like anything really bad could happen. No one would see them, and if someone did, all the better. They’d know he wasn’t overstepping his place. He made sure his steps were loud enough that she had warning of his approach.

“Caleb,” she turned to him with a smile. Lori hoped he couldn’t see she’d been crying. She hoped her smile wasn’t too big. And if God was good, her eyes wouldn’t confess she’d just been praying about him.

“Pastor Greg told me about your meeting,” Caleb began.

Lori extended the keys to him. She sat on one side of the aisle. Taking the keys, he sat down on the other. For a moment she tried to think what Pastor Greg would have told him about their meeting. Sunday school. Oh yes.

“I don’t think they should have fired you.”

Caleb did have to be blunt about things. She didn’t mind too much; she liked his simplicity. He was sincerely kind, even if the gift of tact had passed him by.

Caleb added, “Pastor Greg said you handled it all really well, but maybe not?”

“I did what I had to, what I wanted to. I wasn’t pretending to be ok. I really do understand. But that doesn’t make it easy, you know? I didn’t mean for anyone else to know it upset me. I can trust you not to tell?” Lori always ended up telling him exactly what was on her heart.

Does she have to look so vulnerable? Caleb eyed her pregnant figure. He could definitely tell now. His heart broke at the thought of all she’d been through. Almost he felt guilty he wasn’t there to protect her. He could protect her now. “I can’t see how you could understand. It is so unjust. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Caleb, in my family we never talked about sex or rape. It’s hard to memorize the ten commandments and study the virgin birth without it, but my parents never discussed it. It’s a Victorian sensibility, which isn’t to say it is old fashioned or wrong. I myself plan to tell my child exactly what she asks; I’m just like that. But I can respect parents’ wishes if they want to raise their children in ignorance for a little while longer.”

She made sense. But did she have to be so bold in the words she used? He wished he were making faces outside a car window again. There is a time for everything: silliness and being serious. He had to face this, help her. It was inescapable to her. He rebuked himself now for all the hours he had spent picturing exactly the kind of housewife she would make. Things were different in real life. His imagination fell utterly short. Here before him was not a housewife, but a living complex woman, not to speak of her unusual circumstances.

“Will you ever go back?” he asked.

Lori tilted her head. “I don’t know. I guess kids might not mind, or parents, in some circles. But we’ll see what God has for me. Right now I’m not really in that much of a mood to teach, honestly. I love the kids. But it is exhausting to smile at them like everything’s ok, and still go on handling everyone’s questions and remarks – and pity in a kind way. I know it’s right, but it’s hard. I should have learned to be a better Christian before now.” She ended with a sigh at her own imperfections.

“You look like you could use a pick-up. How about lemonade at my house?” Caleb worried that she would say no. But she smiled, somehow unable to resist the little true compassion and leadership offered her.

To God be all glory.

Autumn

2007-09-05T16:12:00.000-06:00

Adventure stirs withing the soul
People go crunching by
Once green leaves turn to bright gold
Migrating geese southward fly.

Sweaters pulled close against the wind
Beneath a thin grey sky
Soft, drenching rain soaks to the skin
Bleared sunlight seems to lie.

For warmth and green are passing quick
Pale brown the grass is now
Scent of smoke outside drifts thick
Leaves are on the ground.

Just after harvest first snow falls
Evenings are spent inside
Bright leaves carpet tree-pillared halls
Where autumn fairies hide.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 9

2007-09-05T15:57:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

Caleb and the Donnigan’s cleaned the church every other week. This week Caleb volunteered to do most of the work himself, as it was a slow time at the farm. He needed to work – alone – in the place that most reminded him that God was listening. God listened to his every thought, his every desire, and his every prayer. Caleb needed that reassurance before he made another step towards Lori, another step that could affect the rest of his life.

The sound of the vacuum covered for him as he prayed out loud. The stacks of Bibles in Sunday school classrooms and hymnals in the sanctuary seemed so ordinary. For decades families had been worshiping in the same way, singing the same songs, reading the same verses. But when Caleb was alone, praying, it all seemed to mean more. When the care of others’ opinions was taken away, God became more real, more relevant. Those familiar songs were like anthems of God’s work in his life. The verses thrilled him with their ancient poetry and truth. And when he turned off the vacuum to go to a different room, the silence seemed full of the convicting involvement of God.

----------------------------------------------

Greg Paddington, the associate pastor of children’s ministries, had called Lori to schedule a meeting. His British accent sometimes puzzled the children, sometimes received their teasing, and somehow imprinted every word he said onto Lori’s mind. In this case his tone was full, and as she drove the family van down to town, she analyzed what might be going on. He was serious when he called, but with that over-glazing of cheerfulness, as though he was trying to hide the seriousness of his nature.

In the back of her heart there was a fear. It was a fear she could handle, with God’s help. She prayed that God would enable her to handle whatever the pastor said with grace and humility. The struggle after her attack was more and longer than the initial few weeks. It was more than having a child for the rest of her life. God was allowing this to show her whether she could trust Him enough to represent Him well in anything.

The parking lot was almost empty. A few vehicles were pulled up in the closest parking spaces. Pastor Greg was watching out his window with his hand on the top of the window frame. He seemed at first not to notice her. Then he smiled and waved her in.

“Lori, I don’t want to say what I’m going to say. If it were just me, I wouldn’t say it. I’ve been praying you won’t take it too hard…” he began right away.

Lori put her hand on the slight swelling at her middle. “May I sit?” she smiled genuinely.
“Oh, of course. Do you need water or anything?” Pastor Greg apologized. He and his wife did not have any children yet, so he was unpracticed at courtesies to pregnant women. But he tried.

“I’m fine. You seem to have something important to say, and I expect you would find it easier to just blurt it out.”

“Several parents have come to me concerned that their kids, being exposed to your situation, and having questions, might be taught things that only parents should teach in the parents’ timing. They, and I, in their interest, are asking you to step away from children’s ministry.”

“They’re right. I would give an honest answer if any of the kids asked. I couldn’t do anything else. I won’t go away from church. No, I know no one would ask me to. So the parents might be faced with those sorts of questions from their children anyway. But I understand. My parents, I’m sure, would have been the same way,” Lori agreed. A surge of emotion threatened to surface, but she tapped the desk lightly and recovered control. A smile remained fixed on her face.

“Lori, this isn’t going to go away. As long as you are an unmarried woman with a child, people are going to ask. Kids especially, in their innocence, are going to want to know. In a little town especially, things like this are hard to ignore. And it will effect your child, too. What are you going to do when other little children ask your toddler, or your student, where their dad is?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to trust God. More than anything I want to be a woman who spreads His love and His truth, who lives it even in the hardest circumstances. I suppose if God sends people into my life, He’s giving them that burden to face themselves,” Lori answered, the passion of her life lighting her already flushed face with excitement.

Pastor Greg nodded, smiled regretfully, wishing he was not losing this sweet faithful woman from his ministry team. But he had become attached, as a shepherd, to his little flock’s welfare. He prayed for his Sunday school teachers, and since he knew about Lori’s situation, he had prayed for her future. His eyes, at least, could see clearly how many difficulties her gentle innocence would face. And the solution that had come to mind, from the Holy Spirit, he believed, was that she might get married. It wouldn’t be an ideal marriage, but it might be God’s plan. This he proposed to Lori. “Have you thought you might marry, and give your baby a father?”

This might have been the most tender area of Lori’s heart, the point of acceptance which, after three months of reckoning, was still raw from dreams being ripped away. Her answer was sad and quiet. “That is something I cannot consider. I cannot hope. I would never expect a man to be willing to take me. But if God works that out, I certainly won’t object.”

Behind his desk, focusing rather beyond Lori, Greg nodded. He would keep praying. Considering the offensive nature of his request, Lori had taken it very well. She was even almost praising him. This thought gave him need for clarification. “Let me just clarify. You weren’t intending to step down anyway?”

“No. I love those kids, and it will be hard to tell them good-bye. I would not voluntarily have quit. But I know that God gave the responsibility for those little souls first to the parents, second to you, and last to me. I have to follow that. I don’t mind submitting to that hierarchy. It’s ok.” Lori brushed soft tears from her cheeks.

“There can be other ministries. I know you’ll be busy with a baby, but there will be things at church for you to do in other areas. I’ll keep a look out if I come across anything.”

“Thank you, Pastor Greg. Is that all?” Lori rolled the little chair back and pushed off the desk to stand.

“Yes. Thank you, Lori.”

To God be all glory.

Diana in Philosophy Class

2007-08-27T00:36:00.000-06:00

“It’s been ten years since mainstream science accepted the theory that space is finite,” said Professor Beamon to his class. “In those ten years we have only begun to grasp the implications. If the universe is limited, it has a center. It can be measured. It has an edge.” He emphasized this last corollary because of its mystery.

“I thought this was philosophy class,” Diana thought. She rolled her eyes and began to scribble an intricate celtic pattern on her notebook. She was officially tuned out. Science was not her thing. I mean, she loved observation and analysis and all that scientific method stuff, but what science has become: a theoretical jungle o mathematics, microscopic assumptions, and universe-encompassing equations – was not even remotely relevant to her major, her roommate troubles, or her existence.

Next to her a male student was tapping his pen, putting random dots on his paper. Or maybe they weren’t random. They blurred out of focus. Who was he? Why was he tapping? Why did he use that pen? Was he moving in time to his thoughts? The professor’s speech cadence? What did that seemingly meaningless collection of dots indicate? Dreams have had interpretations since prehistoric times. So dots can mean something, too. “Everything means something,” she reassured herself. “God shows His glory in the details.”

“…details,” said the professor. Diana’s attention snapped back. After all, even a word in an insignificant lecture is a detail. It means something as well.

Her teacher continued while Diana tried to gather what led up to this. You know how sometimes your memory stores things you heard, even though you weren’t listening? He had been talking about how space was limited… and time! Time is limited too. “He’s way too into math,” Diana thought. She jotted down the mathematical term Professor Beamon had used so she could look it up later.

“The point is, there are only so many combinations of variables in an isolated universe. Eventually everything will be tried: every bar of music, every sentence. You may have read C.S. Lewis. In one of his children’s novels, there is a ‘deplorable word’ that ends the world. What if the last possible association has been made? Will the world end then? Or will we gradually see the world in bigger and bigger ‘sentences’? Have we already reached that point? Is the great philosopher of Ecclesiastes right when he says ‘there is nothing new under the sun’?”

Diana was thinking now. Her mind was racing and her heart was pounding. Scarcely sparing the energy from her thoughts to raise her hand, it yet went up slowly. Immediately the teacher stopped and pointed at her. She had hoped for a moment more to organize the thought forming in her heart more than her mind. When she began, she stuttered. Professor Beamon leaned forward, but he wasn’t impatient or intimidating; he was eager, and he sought to draw all his students into the lesson.

“What if creativity isn’t constant? I mean,” Diana took a deep breath to slow down, “E equals m c squared and all that, but what if we keep going on even after everythinghas been tried? Does that mean we’re getting input from outside the universe?” Philosophy always made her think of God. C.S. Leis argued that rational thinking can only be explained by the existence of a supernatural God.

The teacher repeated her question loud enough for the whole class to hear. Then he nodded at Diana. Before he could respond further, a boy across the room spoke up, “So like we’re not in a closed system?”

Another student posed another perspective, “Or we are closed, but we have a door, or better yet not a door, but like a balloon, someone with a sharp enough pin can puncture us.”

“So you’re arguing God? God is in control? God gives creativity? God holds that needle?” Professor Beamon picked up again.

But Diana was excited. This train of thought was going somewhere, for her at least. Each new thought second-guessed the previous until she moved deeper and deeper. She couldn’t tell if she was zooming out or zooming in as the map websites say it. She just knew that things got clearer the more she thought. And that is why she was here.

“Professor,” she interrupted again, “maybe it wasn’t a matter of reaching the end of possibilities. Maybe a long time ago there were no possibilities until God injected them. After all, where does thinking, and talking, and all creative expression come from originally?”

He didn’t look like he had never considered that. Nor did he act like she had stolen one of his points. He merely smiled, sweeping his eyes across a room full of thoughtful faces. And he went on, shepherding the discussion until it reached the point at which he was aiming all along.

“What is a world where every melody has already been sung? Where every love story has been lived? Is that a world people can live in? Is repetition bad? Or beautiful? If the world does have edges, must it also have walls?”

After class, Diana went to meet the professor personally. This was the first class of the semester, and despite the rough, science-oriented start, she was excited.

“You’ve discovered my favorite word: ‘maybe’, Miss Connor. I appreciate your participation.”

“I like your class. You aren’t like a lot of teachers. When you ask a question, you don’t have an answer in mind. I mean, you let us be right, too.”

“Well, if you’re ever obviously wrong, I will let you know. For instance, on tests, there are right and wrong answers. I do believe in absolutes.”

Diana laughed at the reference to the shaky worldview that went out of fashion after the scientific enlightenment of 2015. That was an unstable time, when most standard scientific laws and theories were thrown out and reinterpreted. Naturalism, which had bound science under almost a spell for over a century, slowly fell apart as scientists first trickled, then flocked to a philosophy of order and information once again. During those unstable years in the rebuilding of science, one could not afford not to believe in absolutes.

“Yet this class is not about discovering the world’s secrets or getting perfect test scores. I see the student; you, Miss Connor, or you, Mr. Stapler, “ he addressed another student who had come up and was listening, “as my primary focus. I care that each of you learn to think critically and rationally and frequently. Meditate on Scripture. Ponder God’s creation. Some students, of course, have to be taught to think in the first place.”

“I know,” said Diana. “But, sir, you nearly lost me with all the science at the beginning. I checked to make sure I was in the right class.”

“Philosophy isn’t science, or knowledge like the Greek word means. It’s guessing,” Matt Stapler agreed.

“But it’s all connected. God’s creation is interwoven. I like to emphasize different aspects of this in my lectures. You have to know that philosophy has a practical side.

“Besides, I find science fascinating, and I like to keep up with the newest advances. You’ll find I speak about whatever is on my mind, and it all comes together for two reasons. The first is that I am thinking about things myself, and always making the connections. The second is that sometimes, when we surrender, when I surrender to God’s service, He takes over and gets the results.”

“I say whatever is on my mind and it gets me into trouble,” Matt said.

“That’s where the input issue comes in,” Diana said. “Out of the overflow of our hearts the mouth speaks. And nothing can be in our hearts unless we put it there. So praying and memorizing Scripture and reading good books…”

“Or even science articles,” put in Professor Beamon playfully.

“Yes, or whatever ingredients you need to make your cake – that’s what produces good, orderly things coming out of your mouth.”

“Only a girl would have mentioned cake there. But I see what you’re saying. I need to get so saturated with truth and good things that nothing else could possibly come out when I open my mouth,” Matt summarized.

“And as I encourage open mouths both to speak, and like baby birds, to be fed, I highly recommend you prepare to speak,” Professor Beamon said good-naturedly. “Good to have you in my class.”

Only once they both turned away did he start gathering papers, none of which he seemed to have used during the class. All the while they had been talking, he had been completely focused on them.

“So what are you here for?” Matt asked Diana.

“Like my major? Or how God brought me to this school and what I expect Him to teach me?”

“Both if you like. But I meant your major.”

“I like psychology. Why people do what they do. In fact I can’t control myself; I analyze everything.”

“But if an infinite God is continually adding ideas and guiding, how can you ever make sense of that?”

Diana answered, “God is not a God of chaos, but of order. He made laws to govern the universe. He set us with limits. He tells us, also, about human nature.”

“So what about the other things?” Matt seemed to accept her answer. “Why this college, and what’s God going to teach you?”

It is cool to be in a Bible college. Most of the people there share your values and theology. And they’re striving to live lives of Christ-likeness, centered on love and building others up. With this confidence, Diana expected that when anyone asked a question, they were ready to listen to the answer.

“As to how I got here, it’s all God’s work. I heard about the school through a friend, and when I looked up info about the college, I just knew. Their mission statement, the majors they offered, and the classes each major included just fit my interests so well. A lot of schools might be good for one subject or another, but this, this was like a gourmet meal…”

“Are you hungry?” Matt asked. “Literally, I mean?”

“A little,” Diana answered. But she wondered how he knew.

“Cake. Gourmet. How about a candy bar?” He went to a vending machine so ancient it could have been in a museum. He swiped his currency card and asked her what she wanted. “Chocolate?” he suggested.

Diana took a bite and thanked him. Then she continued her tale. “So I really wanted to come here, but it was a miracle I got accepted. I’m still not sure how it happened.”

“A lot of people say that. Maybe it’s a conspiracy.”

Diana studied Matt out of the corner of her eye to make sure he was just teasing. “As for what God will teach me, I hope to be a better communicator, and to understand people better. And once you understand why people are who they are, and how they work, then you can help them become better people. But to do that, you have to know the standard you’re aiming for. That’s why I picked a Bible college.”

“That was a mouthful. You’re a good communicator, though.”

“I could be better,” Diana said humbly. “What are you here for?”

“My parents taught me to put God first, and everything else would fall into place. Kind of like Proverbs 3:5-6. He makes paths straight. So I set out on a quest to put God first in everything. I don’t think my parents expected my obedience to be so radical. It’s been an adventure.

“The first year after high school I spent doing foreign missions. With all the technological advances, especially in communications, it’s hard to remember there are pockets of the world where people are starving, and they’ve never heard the gospel. I went to a few of those places, for months at a time, and I’ll never forget.”

“Wow; I can’t imagine spending a whole year and then – what was it like to come back?”

“Rough, so far. Some things seem so petty. Like worship in church. In those countries if people were going to praise God, it was because they had something to sing about. I witnessed people praising God with their last breath, literally. Coming home was such a huge contrast. Some days I can’t bear the stifling formality.

“Personally I was used to needing God and relying on Him. It’s amazing how soon we forget, and get out of the habit. Now I’m like Israel, sitting in a land flowing with milk and honey. I have to remind myself that all this is from God, too.”

“Now who’s talking about food?” Diana teased.

“Anyway,” Matt smiled to acknowledge her joke, “a guy on my team had come to this college, and it was all he talked about. So here I am. To tell you the truth, I’m still not sure where God’s going to take me.”

“I wish I knew the future – just pieces.”

“Not me. I don’t envy those who know. God has His reasons for letting them know that they’re going to be a doctor, or marry their childhood sweetheart. It’s my adventure to follow God by faith. Faith is important. It’s survival. And we grow it by not knowing.”

I always find it interesting how well people get along when they barely know each other. Everything is new, so no quirks annoy. If the meeting is only casual, there is no need to go deep, to please, or to guard yourself, for that matter. And when a girl realizes she got along well with a boy that first meeting, the inevitable happens. Jane Austen, the classic novelist, pointed it out: her thoughts jump quickly from friendship to attachment to love and from there it is a small matter to jump to matrimony. All this can take place in a few seconds.

Since Diana was a great thinker, she thoroughly thought out all the implications of each step and analyzed every word that she and Matt had shared. Therefore it was more like minutes before she thought of marriage.

Unless a boy has either read Jane Austen’s excellent novels and taken their truths to heart; or been around girls long enough to know from experience that is what they are thinking, he cannot realize the danger he is in. He also certainly doesn’t consider matrimony himself. In fact, wishing most urgently that boys not be offended, boys usually leave such a conversation as Matt’s and Diana’s thinking of themselves. I don’t think this is bad, since many boys need to critique themselves so they well improve.

What did Matt think about after Diana walked away? First he noted, as near sub-consciously as possible while still able to suppress the idea, how bright her eyes were. Then he returned to the vending machine to indulge the craving that had brought on the use of the ‘milk and honey’ metaphor.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 8

2007-08-11T17:47:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

In church the next Sunday, Lori’s best friend Marybelle asked for prayer for her from the singles’ Sunday school class. Mom and Dad did the same in their adult Sunday school. Lori blissfully taught a children’s class where they sang songs about baby Moses and wove a reed basket out of construction paper. Before church a few acquaintances came up to her. It was apparent they felt they should say something but had no idea what to say, so they pressed her hand, smiled sadly, and went away.

Marybelle and Rebekah sat with Lori and her family during worship. True to their promise, they were far from abandoning her. A few rows back and a few feet down the pew from his family, Caleb sat with head bowed in prayer. His dad watched him struggle as what he had long suspected became completely obvious. Behind him still a group of mid-thirties deacon’s wives whispered about the news. An unwed mother, they said, didn’t belong in their congregation however it happened. They were unwilling to believe she was so innocent as her loving parents made out.

---------------------------------------------------------

Tess Donnigan was a woman renowned for two things: her cornbread and her sons. The former was due to an old family recipe brought to town for the first time upon her marriage to Michael Donnigan. He was responsible for the latter. They had three boys: Michael, Caleb, and Ryan. They were able, pleasantly featured farmers. Smart and courteous, Tess was the envy of every mother in town. When her youngest son was eleven, her husband purchased land ten miles north of town, and they had been running their dream ranch ever since.

Two years ago, Tess gathered a reputation for a third thing: faith. Her husband was diagnosed with cancer. While she drove him to weekly treatments in the city, her three boys ran the homestead themselves. They proved able and responsible, even turning a profit big enough to cover their father’s medical expenses. Yet Tess sang as loud and lovely as anyone in church. And she was always ready to have a guest in for lemonade and cornbread.

Last year Michael Junior felt comfortable enough with his dad’s recovering health to go to Bible college to prepare for full time missions work. Caleb was done with high school and hoping to be a farmer the rest of his life. Ryan was a junior in high school, and eager to help with chores after school just as long as he had time for working out, too, so he could impress the pretty Kansas girls at school.

Mr. Michael Donnigan looked at his middle son. For a year Michael Jr. had been at college and Caleb had been shouldering most of the load at home. At times Mr. Donnigan would worry that his son was not living his life. Tess reassured her husband that Caleb was becoming not only the man he intended to be, but the Christian refined by fire, the steady man of God for whom they’d prayed. Now, faced with the need to confront Caleb about his plans for the future, Michael was less certain again.

“Caleb?” He began slowly.

“Yes, sir?” Caleb rose to his feet in case his father would request something.

“Sit down. I’d like to talk to you.”

Caleb nodded, obeyed, and tried to keep the dull ache in his stomach from rising to choke him. Everything about his dad’s once strong face was still familiar enough to tell him that his dad knew his secret.

“You’ve been a great help to the family. You didn’t go off to college – I know, because that isn’t fitting with your goals – and I’m grateful. But I worry, as dads tend to, that you aren’t having enough time to pursue other parts of your future; that maybe the extra responsibilities have robbed you of, romance for example.” Mr. Donnigan cocked his head and shot an arrow-like look into Caleb’s eyes. Yes. He reassured himself one last time that he was not imagining Caleb’s attraction.

“Yes, sir. I mean no. I haven’t been cheated. I’ve been waiting. I thought maybe she was too young yet.”

“Caleb, now what are you going to do?” his fatherly tone penetrated Caleb’s long-prepared answers.

“I don’t know. I love her more now, feel protection for her more. I’ve tried to hide how I feel, but if I hide it much longer, I know I’ll burst. And now… I don’t even know if she’ll believe me that I really…”

“You should stop hiding it. I’ll tell you my opinion, that it doesn’t matter what she’s been through. It isn’t her fault. Her situation will certainly affect you, but it won’t prevent you. Be warned it may even delay you. She is a thoughtful, faith-filled girl, and like your Mom, liable to do something she would rather not if she thought it best for someone else.”

“I know,” Caleb agreed.

“Did you have a good time taking her up to the city?” Dad asked.

“Raucous good time. If she’d known I was flirting she would have disapproved, I’m sure.”

“Maybe you’d better slow down, or talk to her parents first,” Dad suggested slowly.

“You think I could do that without telling her?”

“I don’t think you should flirt without telling them – asking them.”

Caleb frowned. “What if they say no?”

Mr. Donnigan frowned in turn. With half an Irish lilt, he asked, “Do you or do you not have faith in a good, almighty God? If he wants her to be your wife, it will work. If He doesn’t, her parents will say no, and you’ll move on. You’ve done fine enough without her meanwhile.”

To God be all glory.

A Poet's Work

2007-07-16T14:17:00.000-06:00

A poet’s work must be very hard
Be he Shakespeare or only a bard.
Forcing each line to somehow fit
The rhyme, meter, and topic of it.

Pity the man that tries to rhyme
Without inspiration or right clime.
Pity the eraser or backspace key
Of the man who tries to write poetry

Strive not to think of the process, friend.
It will but ruin it in the end.
When you read a poem artfully wrought
Treasure the piece; despise poet not.
And here is the rest of it.

To God be all glory.

Touching His Hem

2007-07-16T14:13:00.000-06:00

She pushed through the crowd, bent almost double. So many strangers! Only a few familiar faces turned to glare at her, saying she had no right to be here. The faces were older than she remembered. It had been a long time since she ventured out into her village. Ahead she could see one of her doctors, but he wasn’t looking this way. The money purse at his hip taunted her. It might be weighted with the money she had paid him, without getting any relief in return. Now he was here to see Messiah. So was she, and nothing else mattered.

Closer to the road people were pressed tighter together. As far as she could see, they were even choking the road. She pushed against the relentless people for five minutes before she heard them begin to cheer. “Teacher! Master!” – some were more direct in their questions. “Are You the one?” A Pharisee? The man was young, so she didn’t recognize him. There had been a time when she was the friend (or enemy) of every leader in Israel. That was over thirty years ago, before.

As the crowd grew louder, she desperately dropped to her knees and made her way between legs and around purses. Nothing else mattered. If she could just see Him, touch Him, she knew everything would be better.

But all the people, jostling in the way! It was hopeless. The Master would be here and gone before she could get close. She crawled forward anyway.

Cheers deafened her. No time to cover her ears. Just crawl. At last she tumbled onto the road. There He was! That must be Him just ahead, with all the people reaching out to Him. He would pass her by. Just then He stumbled backward from the weight of the people. She blessed the crowds she hated. He was just within reach. Her fingertips stretched to touch His hem, trying to snag it and draw herself closer. Immediately she felt it; she was healed. In awe, in bliss – pure bliss – she remained, crouched on the ground.

Jesus turned to look at the woman, bowed now in reverence. He spoke tender words, but ones that silenced those near. “Who touched Me?” One of his followers began to point out what everyone else was thinking: how silly a question that was. But the woman raised her head to meet His eyes. He already knew it was her; He looked at her as though He had always known it would be her.

At first whispering, then raising her voice so the people around them could hear, she told her Lord the whole truth. She told of her illness for 30 years, of using all her money to pay doctors until now, when she had nothing. A few days ago she had heard of the Teacher. A few hours ago word had come that He would be coming this way. So she had determined to see Him. She pointed at the crowd as she told how she had been forced to crawl to Him. A smile spread across her pain-free face.

“Then I touched Your robe, Lord, and I am healed.” A few people murmured; a few cheered. He took her hand and raised her up. A man ran up, quietly pressing through the people, but with the demeanor of a servant, he dared not interrupt. Jesus saw him. Sadness flitted across His face before He turned back to her.

“Daughter,” He used a word she had not heard in decades, “your faith has made you well. Go in peace.” As though the very words He spoke carried power, peace filled her. She walked tall and straight away from Him through the crowd. At the edge of the crowd, she turned to see all the people leaving. Jesus and a few of His followers went on down the road with the servant.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 7

2007-07-16T14:09:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

“Come on, tell me,” Lori coaxed. Caleb looked at her from the driver’s seat. With a keen eye one so familiar with her could detect that she had gained a little weight. But not much yet. First he felt that she was just the same size, so things were just the same. A minute later he felt that things would never be the same and that she perhaps wasn’t gaining enough weight for a pregnant woman. He decided he was glad he was driving, so he would take her to eat whatever she was hungry for. Then he wished he hadn’t driven her because the girl in the passenger seat smiling at him almost made him drive off the road.

“Don’t you think Gail is pretty?” Lori teased. She had spent fifteen minutes trying to figure out which girl in their Bible study was Caleb’s favorite.

“Sure. Most girls are pretty. It’s one of their jobs,” he tried to divert her into an argument.

“Oh, well. I can’t deny that. You don’t mean it’s our only job?” Lori teased.

“No. Of course I expect girls to do the cooking and the cleaning…” Lori hit his shoulder with the sleeve of her jacket, which, due to the unusually warm fall day, was lying in her lap. “…and baby rocking.”

“You don’t want a bit of baby rocking and baby bouncing on your knee yourself?” Apparently Lori would not be diverted.

“Only when the right girl will have me.”

Lori smirked in triumph. “You haven’t given a single direct answer yet. If there were no girl in our study you admired, you would have said so.”

“To say such a thing would be uncharitable.”

“High talk from a farmer,” she accused.

“Farmers cannot be charitable, or only girls like you can use ‘high talk’?” he asked.

“I…” she became quiet. “Sorry.”

“Suppose I did tell you I was ‘watching a girl from afar.’ Would you proceed to tell everyone you know?”

“If you don’t trust me, don’t tell me.”

They got into the city limits and Caleb pulled into a gas station. “Excuse me a minute.” While he was out of the car pumping gas, Lori prayed. She couldn’t start to feel for a guy. It was just in fun. They were friends. He knew her situation. He was just trying to cheer her up. Click. Thud. She looked up to see the strangest face peeking at her through the window. Caleb had sneaked around to the passenger side of his pickup and tapped on the window to make faces at her. She made one back. He ran around to the other side and made one there. She rolled her eyes. Opening the door, he said, “You can do better than that. Let me see.” Lori laughed while trying to look ridiculous. Always better to try looking ridiculous than to try not to and succeed in the opposite.

The doctor’s appointment went well. Caleb waited semi-patiently in the waiting room until she was done. “Well?”

Lori gave in to the hugest smile he’d ever seen her wear. “I heard a heartbeat!”

“Wow. Do they know whether it’s a boy or a girl?” Caleb asked.

“If they do I asked them not to tell me. The doctor says I should gain a lot of weight soon. I’ll have to tell everyone at church.”

“I’ll pray for you. It’ll be hard, I know.”

“I don’t want everyone pitying me. Or putting me on a pedestal for the great way I’m getting through this. I just need them to support me, like family,” Lori confessed.

“How’s your family handling it?”

“Ok. They were really shocked. Micah offered to quit school so he could come walk me to my car every night. You know.”

Getting curious, Caleb asked, “Why did you tell me?”

“I’m an honest person and you asked an honest question. I was tired of avoiding the subject,” Lori explained.

“Well, I’m glad. I hope you’ll let me know if there is anything else I can do to help.”

To God be all glory.

Nathanael's Dark Night

2007-07-12T23:03:00.000-06:00

Nathanael sat in a lonely room, bending over his parchment to make out the tiny characters written there. How many times the last three years had he sent messages to Yacob about these very texts? Now his host, an old friend, was snoring from the shadows of the small house. After what happened today, how could one sleep? Indeed, each time his own eyes closed with the heaviness of his grief and exhaustion the darkness came alive, revealing itself in the memorized faces of evil incarnate. “Crucify him!” they yelled.

He drew his hand across his brow, finding there beads of sweat. Wiping his hand on his sash, the young scribe tried to return to studying. Some faces were too familiar. Old friends. Men who were in training to be scribes as he had been… before. Some had been his teachers. After hearing Yeshua teach, how could one apply that title to anyone else? He had the words of life. Yeshua had become Nathanael’s life. Now He was dead.

As young Israelites hoping to distinguish themselves as scribes, Yacob and Nathanael had apprenticed themselves to those religious leaders who were willing to teach. They studied Scripture, carefully copying out entire passages in their notes. Poor students made the most of their parchment by writing in very small print. The two friends had found early in their course of study that the Messianic passages were their favorites. With politics as they were in Israel, who wasn’t thinking about the Messiah? Each verse was studied and puzzled over. They consulted the rabbinical commentaries.

Still there were anomalies. Rabbis debated whether some passages were truly about the awaited Messiah. One would read along, get caught up in the glorious conquering mission of God’s Anointed Prophet, in whom His Name dwells. Next would be a verse about suffering, or being despised of the people. The wave-like emotions of the text brought to mind the ups and downs of the walk with Yeshua the past months.

From Galilee to Jerusalem, Yeshua and His growing company of followers had steadily made their way to the city for the feast. As in the beginning, nearly three years prior, still Yeshua performed miracles. He healed the sick, multiplied food, commanded storms to cease, and cast out demons. Some whispered rumor said He could raise the dead.

“Raise the dead? All of Israel had heard of Lazarus. Dead four days. Then Yeshua tells him to come out of the tomb, so he does. We ate with him in Bethany this week,” pondered Nathanael. “No wonder the people thronged to worship Him when He entered the city for Passover. So how could one with such power let Himself be led, like a lamb to the slaughter?”

This made him mindful of a prophecy of Isaiah. He searched the sheaf of papers. Rabbis said it was about Messiah, but how could that be? Words like wounded, cut off, smitten by God were only painful reminders of the death of his hope. How firmly they had all believed!

Pharisees fast. Saducees tithe. Scribes study. Rabbis teach. The people of the land pray. Yes, they ask for their needs. And the Eternal provides. At the beginning of his journey, Nathanael too was praying. He had been studying, but there was so much he didn’t understand. Following Solomon’s example, he went to pray for wisdom. Like Daniel, he confessed his sins and the sins of his people. Then he sighed beneath the fig tree in the morning. How he yearned for the kingdom of God to come! Turning with his thoughts, he prayed for Messiah to come quickly.

For the first decade in hundreds of years, this had become a prayer the educated could truly hope to see answered. Daniel’s prophecy of weeks should be fulfilled soon. Scholars debated over the decree which set the calendar in motion. Either way, time was running short.

Some eager fools ran to the wilderness, chasing any rumors of a Messiah. Most were rebels, hoping for power or glory like Judas Maccabee had won. Others were good teachers, who denied they were the Promised One. Hopeful peasants would not be deterred.

The priests and Sanhedrin took a different view. When Messiah descended on the Temple Mount to establish His dominion, they would not be caught following some dusty peasant rebel. No, they would be dressed their finest, talking the loudest, presenting the largest sacrifice.

Nathanael would probably be doing what he was today: praying. More and more the burden of knowing the law and the prophets drove him to pray. Then he read the Psalms for expression and comfort.

“I looked for comforters, but found none.” A Psalm brought him away from his memories. He knew it wasn’t written on any of the papers in Yacob’s collection. No one thought that was a Messianic prophecy. Most of his thoughts drew from Scripture in one way or another. His mind was saturated with it. That was one thing that drew him to Yeshua: though He didn’t commentate on the Law, He constantly alluded to Moses, David, Isaiah, and the others.

In a time when most teachers were trying to separate themselves by saying something new, Yeshua drew crowds by making practical sense of what was written before. Sometimes Nathanael could almost finish His sentences. Other times the things Yeshua said were so shocking that only days later, in the contemplative silence of walking the countryside, would he recognize that the Teacher had been drawing a truth from some overlooked passage of an oft-ignored prophet.

The day they met was still a puzzle. Nathanael was praying. His friend Phillip found him in a place where they had often debated the meaning of prophecy. That was long ago. Phillip had fallen in love, gotten serious about working to provide for a family. Nathanael had continued his own work.

As kids they were part of a sect that was discreetly referred to as “those waiting for the kingdom of God.” Their parents paid careful attention to news that might give them clues as to when Messiah was coming. They were on the watch. Nathanael couldn’t count how many times he had heard the story of Widow Anna, the prophetess, who before he was born brought news to them of a baby Messiah dedicated at the Temple. And this coincided a few years later with Herod’s decree to murder all infant boys in Bethlehem, whence Messiah would come. What Herod had heard (if anything), no one dared ask. The king had been notoriously suspicious and half mad.

That day three years ago was reminiscent of the old stories. Phillip ran to the tree, and held his knees to catch his breath. “We have found Him,” he didn’t wait to pant out. Adding details his friend would understand, he continued, “of whom Moses in the Law, and also the prophets wrote.” Phillips eyes were bright from running, but something else also seemed to light them.

Nathanael had long known Phillip’s enthusiasm about John the Baptizer. Surely he wouldn’t run all this way just to remind him? “Jesus of Nazareth,” Phillip finished.

Nathanael’s heart stirred. The branches above his head rustled. There was something in the way Phillip spoke. His words were honest and sober. Nathanael knew his friend, and trusted him. But he frantically ran over verses in his mind searching for some reference to Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” he wondered aloud.

“Come and see.”

“You mean He’s close?” he thought. The two men left the fig tree standing alone in the deserted field.

Yeshua saw Nathanael approach. His greeting excited curiosity in Nathanael to this day, unless… “Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no deceit!”

Unable to think of anything else to say, and rather stunned at the recognition in the Rabbi’s voice, Nathanael said, “How do you know me?” Phillip would have asked if his friend had not. Though he was beaming, though he said he believed Yeshua was Messiah, he didn’t yet know what that meant. None of them did. Would they ever?

“Before Phillip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” Yeshua looked at him with a piercing glance now dearly missed, and a familiar hint of a smile.

Who hears the prayers of the heart but God? No one had been near the fig tree. Nathanael liked to pray in private so no one would see his tears or hear his confessions. Yeshua’s eyes glistened, almost weeping for the passion of this Israelite. In the years that followed, Nathanael had seen others’ emotional outbursts affect Him the same way.

In that moment of beginning everything had come together. Years of waiting. Pages of text. John the Baptizer. Phillip’s testimony. And this. By words whose significance was lost on all others, Yeshua confessed his identity.

“Rabbi, You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”

That day Nathanael left his watching and his parchments. He observed the Word come alive. His confession settled once for all his faith and his willingness to follow. But something else happened that Nathanael did not expect. He would have served his Master in any way, gone into battle for Him. But his Master became his friend, one he loved to follow not only because He was worthy, but because He was beloved. Many of His followers felt it. They dared not discuss it lest they be thought impertinent.

Nathanael shaped some warm wax between his thumb and finger. Only a few days ago Yeshua had made his heart rejoice by calling them friends. He felt that way, too! “Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for a friend,” Yeshua once said. Perhaps they were not His friends. Not one stood by Him when He was on trial. All had fled.

In the darkness Nathanael had stumbled and tripped through the outskirts of Jerusalem, following phantom lights his eyes thought he saw. Finally he got his bearings and came to Yacob’s house. There he had remained, frightened, until a servant brought the news: Yeshua had been sentenced to crucifixion and was already dead. The sky was dark the first time Nathanael looked out, though the sun had not set. All mourned for Yeshua.

For hours Nathanael sobbed, ignoring the customs of the holy feast he should have been observing. Occasional reports increased his understanding of how the impossible had happened. Yeshua was often associated with the impossible. The thought was bitter. Yacob delivered the news and left him alone.

At last Nathanael arose. An idea had struck him. Three years he had not been forced to search the Scriptures himself for comfort. Yet that is what he had done before. It might help again. Understanding and answers might give him peace.

Yacob obligingly brought his notes out of storage. When it grew too dark to read, he brought candles. As of yet Nathanael could not speak. No, he could not even pray. How does one pray when the Son of God is dead? “Son of God” is what he had said, right? And for three years he lived proof. But now everything was in doubt. Who else could Yeshua have been?

Over and over again Nathanael read the verses. Many words and prophecies he’d never associated with the Messiah perfectly described what he was going through. If he could just put them all together, maybe they would make sense.

The sun rose, a bright Sabbath morning. Yacob the bachelor scribe invited Nathanael to worship with him. Finding comfort in ritual, in stubbornly affirming things which seemed senseless to believe, Nathanael went through the day. If it weren’t Sabbath, he would have taken a long walk. He thought that the sons of Zebedee, sons of thunder, would have hammered something (or someone) to release their frustration. It sounded tempting.

Instead he spoke. He poured out his heart to Yacob. They sat under the broad open window at the front of the house. Nathanael was silent when anyone drew near, for fear of the Jews. Yacob urged him to go on, getting excited about the details, the fulfilled prophecy his friend reported. “But it can’t be! He’s dead. He isn’t the one,” Nathanael reminded.

With a more patient heart Yacob answered, “How could so many things be right – and nothing wrong – except this?” His eyes hesitated, showing by their vibration his debate between two options. He spoke again. “Almost I would ask if our Enemy has not cast some mighty unforeseen stroke. If the Evil One cut off the Messiah… But that would be blasphemy.”

“Messiah is not just a man. He is the Son of God. If… if Yeshua is Messiah, this is a heavy stroke indeed. It is not possible – is it – that the Adversary could win?”

“If so we are the most miserable of all souls.”

Nathanael sighed. “The last meal, Thursday night, we all said we would die for Him.” The weight of his failure buried him again. After a few moments he looked up, resolved. His eyes were grey, miserable, and without hope; but they were fierce. “He was my King and my Friend and my Rabbi. The Sanhedrin, if reports be true, has claimed Caesar as their king. They have befriended the god of this world. Whether He wins or loses, I will stand with the God of Israel. I don’t understand. All I can do is what I know is right.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” Yacob hoped to sit this fey mood out. “What about the others? What do they think?”

“I haven’t seen them. John would be with his brother, Yacob. Phillip is probably with Andrew, and Simon with them. We all scattered from Gethsemane.” Thinking of his friends reminded him that three years of itinerant ministry had yielded him more than just one friendship. He and Phillip were closer than ever. “I should find them, see if I can help: I don’t know, comfort or make plans.”

“Tomorrow, my friend.”

To God be all glory.

Thanks to Snapshots of Joy for the graphics!

Lori's Choice Part 6

2007-07-09T22:14:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

Lori glanced at the autumn sky and dared it to rain. She was crossing the street from the women’s clothing store run by an elderly seamstress in town. Her budget had finally allowed her to go on a maternity clothes shopping spree a few weeks ago. Mrs. May the seamstress was one of the few in town even yet who knew Lori’s secret. Besides her was the pastor, the small group girls, and her parents. The clothes she chose would keep her secret a bit longer. Today she was picking them up.

“Hi, Lori,” a tall young man with shoulders that stuck out wider when his hands were in his pockets greeted her in the middle of the dusty street. “What did you buy?” Caleb had noticed the smile on her face as she clutched the bags containing her purchases.

Tired of keeping secrets, Lori joined Caleb on the sidewalk. They’d known each other most of their lives, and went to a Bible study every Friday night for the singles in the church. He was the son of a nice farmer who lived about ten miles off the highway that ran through town. “Maternity clothes,” she answered simply, and showed him the pile of neatly folded blouses and skirts in her bag.

“For who?” he asked.

“Whom,” she corrected. “Me.” She bit her lip.

Caleb stopped walking. A few paces later, she did too. She slowly turned to meet his questioning gaze. “You!”

“I’m due in May, and I’m starting to show.”

“How? Who?” he stuttered. If he had been thinking about what he was saying, he would have decided he didn’t want to know who. But it was too late.

“I was assaulted while on vacation in Denver this summer. They don’t know who it was,” Lori tried to keep to strict facts. She almost couldn’t stand the sadness, the pity that flooded Caleb’s face. In a moment she felt him a truer friend than she’d ever given him credit.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He ran his big hand through his semi-curly brown hair.

“Do you mean it?” Lori asked.

“Of course.”

“I have an appointment with the obstetrician on Tuesday. Something came up and Mom needs the car. Is there any way you could give me a ride?” she asked. Through the whole experience she was learning how good it could feel to accept help, to be weak. She was quick to add, “If you can’t it’s fine. I can just reschedule.”

He scratched his ear and told her he thought it would be just fine. “What time do you need to be there?”

Lori’s heart surged with gratitude. He was giving her a ride, solving a problem that had been weighing on her mind. And he wasn’t even forcing her to make decisions. “The appointment is at 1:30.”

“And are you up for lunch in the city prior?” he offered.

“Thanks, yes,” Lori agreed. “Wait. Um. Maybe I’d better clear the plan with my parents. They’re a little protective now. Can I call you to confirm.”

“Or talk to me at church. Either way.” He awkwardly said good-bye, almost running back across the street. He kicked a rock with the toe of his shoe and shoved his hands deep in his pockets just as the wind blew in the first sheet of rain.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 5

2007-07-01T16:56:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

Lori’s first public outing was her small group on Wednesday night. Her smiling friends asked her how her vacation went. After describing a few of the attractions they’d visited, Lori took a deep breath. This was the first step. These, her dearest friends, the ones who prayed for each other all the time and told secrets, had to know first. They had to pray. She felt she needed their prayers.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted. Janelle laughed. Jenny and Rebekah gawked. Marybelle sat back to wait for the rest of the story.

Lori looked for compassion and understanding in the eyes of her comrades before she continued. It became obvious she would have to explain a little more. “On vacation, I was raped.” She tried to keep it matter of fact. It was matter of fact. No use crying over it. “And the hospital confirmed I’m going to have a baby. Otherwise I’m fine,” she quickly answered the concerned looks on her friends’ faces.

The girls ranged in age from 19 to 24. None of them were trained to deal with such news. They didn’t know what kind of reaction Lori needed. So most of them were silent. Marybelle spoke first. “Physically you’re ok. What are you thinking?”

Lori spread her hands. “I’m thinking a different thing every half hour. Most often I think there’s a baby in my womb that will need love and care for the rest of my life. I am happy about that. It is a great privilege. But it’s scary. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I never imagined doing it all alone, without a husband. It was horrible. I know that all my expectations for life have been shattered. All save one.”

Jenny interrupted. “Why would God let something this horrible happen?”

“Come on. God isn’t responsible for rapists,” Janelle defended.

“But He is responsible for me. I have prayed to Him that He would use me in whatever way He sees fit. Use me to prove who He is to the world. I expect He’s doing that,” Lori answered. “That’s the one expectation that hasn’t changed: that God will have His way in me.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?” Rebekah asked. “I mean to sound pious. You really mean that you’re ok with this?”

“Not perfectly. I need you guys to pray. And promise you won’t abandon me or judge me… Life is going to be different,” Lori ended.

Her friends, closer than sisters, one by one joined a group hug. It was like a friendship pact in the movies, but so much deeper. Marybelle started the praying. That night they prayed and talked. Lori started to share plans for the baby.

At the end of the night she was walking with Marybelle to her car. “It is so sudden, the change in thinking. I don’t bother to dream about marriage anymore. The man I would want to marry wouldn’t want a secondhand wife. That’s ok. I trust God knows what He’s doing. It’s just weird, to not think of guys that way anymore.”

“You’re not bitter?” Marybelle checked.

“Towards men? No. I expect the man who assaulted me did more harm to himself than I will ever feel from it.” Lori waved at her friend and crossed the brightly lit parking lot to her family’s car.

To God be all glory.

The Old Friend - submitted by Melian

2007-06-26T19:19:00.000-06:00

The pastor prayed as the last few notes of the closing hymn hung in the air before dismissing the congregation with an exhortation and blessing. People left their seats, leaving to pick up kids from Sunday school classes, going out to lunch, or congesting the aisles while they chatted with friends. One of the female members approached William Kelly as he slowly rose from his chair, leaning on his old wooden cane. She was accompanied by her usual bright smile which he returned with one of his own--worn perhaps, but not at all rusty.

“Hello Mr. Kelly!”

“Hello Emma.” His heart delighted at her cheerful voice, youthful beauty, and that certain glow that only comes from being recently married. In his mind’s eye he saw his own wife at that age with that same glow, standing in the same room, the sanctuary lights glowing softly on her golden head…

“Ryan and I were wondering if you would like to join us for lunch this afternoon?”

The smile on William’s face widened at the invitation but he shook his head. “Thank you Emma, but I think not today. Why don’t you and Ryan have a nice quiet afternoon to yourselves.”

“You have other plans?”

“Yes. Yes I do. I’m going to spend some time with a very old friend of mine.”

“Oh!” Emma’s smile came back in full force. “That’s great! How do you two know each other?”

“My wife introduced us, a long time ago.”

“Do you get to see each other often?”

“Oh I try to get together once a year or so.”

“How fun. I hope you have a good time.”

William nodded. “I’m sure we will. And thank you for the lunch offer.”

“Oh yes. Maybe we can do it next week.”

“Sounds fine with me.”

“Alright! We’ll plan on that then. Have a good week Mr. Kelly!”

“You too Emma.”

Emma joined her husband outside the church doors and together they headed towards the parking lot.

“He said no?”

“He’s having company over today. Maybe next week.”

Ryan nodded. “I’m glad you thought to offer,” he said, slipping an arm around his wife’s waist.

She nestled her head against his broad shoulder. “I’m glad he has a good friend to spend time with.”

William crossed through the picketed gate opening onto his yard and walked the pathway up to the front door. Though his shoulders were hunched slightly from age, his still-dark head was only a few inches from the top of the door frame.

In the kitchen he took from the refrigerator a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade made just the way his wife used to do for hot summer afternoons. With a glass filled with the pale yellow liquid, he stepped across the hallway to the cool library and sank into his favorite easy chair. He took into hand an old paperback; tears dimmed his vision as his eyes ran over the words written just inside the tattered cover in faded ink--

To my dear husband Will, with hopes that he will enjoy it for many years to come.
Many loves, Margaret.

One withered finger lovingly traced the words before he turned past the introduction and the table of contents, his eyes taking in the familiar words that greeted him with perfect welcome. William turned the worn pages ’til he came to the first chapter. His eyes swept through it, reacquainting himself with the dear old words, the rich story. As a satisfied smile crept to his lips, Will sank back deep into his chair.

“Hello, old friend.”

"You know you’ve read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend."--Paul Sweeney

Shore Walk

2007-06-24T19:29:00.000-06:00

I walked by the shore,
Holding a shell
Strung on a string
Round my neck

My eyes could not see
The sand at my feet;
They saw things not
On my trek.

An old man walked by
Humming a tune
Shuffling his feet
As he went.

“Where did it come from?”
He asked ‘bout my shell.
I answered the man,
Old and bent.

“Twas given to me
By the man I loved
Once when we walked
On this shore.

“We wandered all night
In still starlight
Listening to the sea’s
Mighty roar.

“At first glow of dawn
He gave me this shell
To remember sounds
Of our walk.

“Then he went to war
And never came back
To the shelled shore where
We used to talk.”

The old man smiled
And nodded his head,
Seeing the tears
In my eyes.

He knew well the sounds
Of war and of death:
The reasons an old
Woman cries.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 4

2007-06-24T19:02:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.

The hospital called Dad’s cell phone the day before they left Denver. Lori had gone back for further tests and check-ups during the week, simply functioning, watching the procedures as though it were someone else. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” the nurse tried to sound cheerful. Dad’s heart sank to learn there was bad news. “Good,” was all he could say. “The blood work came back negative on all STD’s, including HIV. Your daughter, I would say, is a very lucky girl.” He wanted to smash the phone. If she was so lucky, why had this happened to her? “But…” the nurse hesitated one moment too long. “What!” he said firmly.

“There appears to be a pregnancy. We can put you in touch with a good surgeon locally, or one nearer your home. I understand you’re on vacation.”

“That won’t be necessary. I shall not be murdering or condoning the murder of my first grandchild.” Dad noticed even as he said it that he was giving the news to his whole family in the room. Mom started crying. Lori’s heart fluttered and her hand went to her belly. How incredible! After a few more curt exchanges, Dad hung up. He went to his daughter, held her by the shoulders, and looked in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lori. I should never have let you be in such a vulnerable position.”

Lori’s eyes welled up in response. “Daddy!” She hugged him, silently running through ways she could let her distraught parents know that God was big enough to handle even this, that He had allowed it for a reason. Also silently, she breathed a heavy prayer of gratitude to God. In all her confusion, God knew what she needed. She needed this baby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After the initial shock, Dad added that the doctor said they would have to wait a few more weeks to be sure. Mom grew silently bitter, feeling that God had not answered her prayers. She marveled at Lori’s resiliency. Once they were back home they all discussed plans. Lori was not up to sharing her news with everyone right away. It would be obvious soon enough, so people would have to be told. She would have to find an obstetrician, and schedule prenatal appointments. Looking further down the road, there were bigger decisions to be made.

Mom brought this up their first night home. “What are you going to do with the baby, Lori?”

“I suppose I’ll nurse it, change it’s diapers, love it…” she answered somewhat naïvely.

“You never considered adoption?” Mom asked, surprised.

Lori’s stomach churned. Suddenly she knew that this decision could not be made only from her heart. In her mind there had been no question. She had not considered giving her baby away. She wasn’t ashamed of it. God had given the baby to her as a consolation. But there would be costs, and lifelong consequences. If she was never to get married, she would be living at home, and her parents would be supporting her and her child. At least she should discuss it with them.

“No,” she answered softly. “I thought God wanted me to have it.”

“Look at the consequences, please, Lori,” her dad said. He was gentler now, and very protective.

Hadn’t Dad called the baby his grandchild? How could he ask her to give the baby away any more than he could destroy it?

Dad continued, “If you, as an unmarried woman, have a child with you the rest of your life, that will affect your reputation. People will wonder and gossip. And your child will be faced with that. He or she will grow up without a father, whereas if you allow it to be adopted, it could have a nice stable family with a mom and a dad…”

“There’s no guarantees, Dad. I know that. There is no guarantee the family that adopts them won’t get divorced, or be pagans, or mean…” Lori started to cry again. “I can. I will. I realize it’s asking a lot of you and Mom, but I can’t give my child up. There are a lot of babies in worse circumstances that need adopting instead of mine.

Dad and Mom nodded. This would be a long road. They weren’t sure how it would all work out. But Lori had faith. They had faith, too, though it was buried at the moment behind guilt and bitterness. Lori cheerfully faced the ordeal of life. Some hours she felt like hiding from the world. At other times she was so filled with compassion that she wanted to give various needy groups a hug: the poor, battered women, orphan children, any children.

To God be all glory.

Five Hot Guys

2007-06-23T23:29:00.000-06:00

Five hot guys, were packed into a car one day… on their way home from an afternoon at the movies.

(Yes, “hot”… it was like 95 degrees, and the air conditioning hadn’t been running all that long.)

One of them had in his hand, his sunglasses…
One had the “oh my goodness” handle…
(You know… the handle above the door, that everyone grabs when the driver takes a corner at somewhere near sixty mph, and then screams, “Oh, my goodness!”)...

Alright, so,
Another had an airsoft gun,
One more, had in his hand the air rushing by outside the window…
and one…
thankfully…
Had the steering wheel.

Cruising down the road, forty miles an hour…

Now…

Picture this…

These same five guys, packed into the back of a police cruiser… wait, four…

Four guys now, packed into the back of a black and white dodge with… oddly enough, one guy tied to the top and a policeman, at the end of his long shift -too long- behind the wheel.

Apparently too much government assistance (*ahem* the people's tax money.) was being given to “fight global warming” and to promote religious “tolerance” and not enough was being directed to the municipal police department and law enforcement of Aurora Colorado.

With that said, there was only one policeman in the area, and obviously, only one car as well. There wasn’t even enough room in the cramped quarters of the backseat of a “compact” police car for four, let alone five…

(Shall we say, the rear seat had a three-and-a-half-body capacity?)

So, handcuffed and tied to the racks ontop of the government vehicle… was the youngest of the five.

On their way to the police station, the police man hit a red light… ok, so he didn’t actually “hit” it, he came to it, and stopped… surprisingly enough… -some cops don’t, especially when tired.

While stopped, he rubbed his eyes, it hadn’t been easy coercing these five delinquents into, and onto his small cruiser.

But he was nearly there… just a few more blocks.

-wait…

Just outside the window, on his side of the car…

Was that?

It was…

There, on the ground…

Rope?

From whe-

Oh no!!!

The law enforcement officer, turned back to see the guy formerly tied to the roof of his… his government’s car… and saw his back disappear behind the hill near the intersection.

Alright… now…

Rewind with me…

Back about two minutes…

The tiee, with a 40 mile an hour wind blowing his, albeit, short hair, was enjoying his unconventional ride across town.

With every moment, he was realizing however, that if he were convicted, his would be the stiffest of all the sentences… as it was his airsoft gun that ended up getting them into this in the first place, he began to consider his means of escape.

He realized that his neck could bend enough for his teeth to reach the ropes around his chest.

With a grin, he quickly started to chew… gnaw… at these ropes… apparently very old…

And in about a minute and half he was loose enough to slip out from under his bonds.

He looked up ahead, and saw the light turning yellow, and his mind raced faster than his consciousness could realize, and his limbs began following a plan, the details of which he wasn’t even fully aware himself.

With the stealth of a cat, and the nimbleness of a mountain goat, he positioned himself on top of the car, now slowing to a stop; he was poised like a panther for a leap and his adrenaline pumping like an oil well in Saudi Arabia.

Moments before the car reached a full stop, his feet left the roof, hardly making a sound, definitely not one the exhausted ears of our friendly neighbourhood policeman could hear.

This brings us back to speed with the story from inside the car.

The four others in the backseat, were realizing slower than the driver, what was happening… and they, being handcuffed, had little to do aside from watch the events unfold…

The policeman swung his door open and raced around the front of his car…

The light turned green, and the line of cars waiting behind him, honked… half of them, unaware of the “lost cargo” that was escaping to the right…

As the policeman made his way across the street, a car coming through the light, the other direction, swerved to miss the “boy in blue” and ran *head-on* (hate that commercial), into the car our four friends were waiting in, and watching from…

Sliding off the road, the police car tipped on its side, and bent around a stump, allowing the locked door to swing open, and the four guys climbed out; and with hands still bound, they bounded across the field and into the upper-middle-class neighbourhood down the hill on the left side of the road.

The clouds above the mountains were slowly beginning to transform from dull grey-white streaks into vibrant flames of pink, orange, and red, as the sun approached the tips of the towering spikes of granite.

So… of the five…

One, is now gone… alone… and followed…

The other four, are a group, off on the run, veiled by the suburbia, roaming the streets of middle-class debtors, hand’s cuffed and “deserving” of imprisonment…

Little do they know, the recent advent of One, roaming the same streets, evading the same government… but where they have circumstance driving them, He, has a reason driving Him…. A motive... His love… justice… and truth.

Ok, so I asked you earlier, to “picture this…”

Abstract picture, ‘eh?

Well, that is it… a picture…
One that doesn’t exist in reality, but did exist, in the minds of five “hot” guys, riding home from a movie earlier today.

There was more about a dress, and about transforming pants utilized in sewer conflict evasion… but that was irrelevant… as the rest seems, and perhaps… actually is…

But it’s a story, accumulated from the random ideas of five movie-stricken minds.

Embellished by one in particular, for literary potency.

Enjoy it if you can… if you want to… and keep praying and never settle, but always be content…

And Keep Smiling, for the right reasons…

God is so good! =)

From “The Five.”

Minus one, in Japan at the moment, which’d have made us six… plus One, Who’s always there, anywhere… which’d have made us seven… prime. But, I guess, God can use less than prime… and He does… still, that doesn’t change what we wish…

Again, enjoy the “picture” the... story.

-MAC <>< =)

Trust

2007-06-22T01:37:00.000-06:00

She shook her head violently and waved her hands before her tear-blinded eyes. Most of the time she could predict or at least understand her husband’s choices. When she was angry, it was usually because somewhere deep inside her, though she didn’t like the decision, she guessed he was right.

This moment was so different. Without warning, her husband had given her news that seemed utterly senseless, and hurtful. She was pained deeply for a presently inexplicable reason. But the tears had to go away. He had to stop talking, and she had to see him.

One look. The pain didn’t go away. It increased as more and more she realized he had known what the cost would be to her. Yet somehow also contained in his eyes was the truth that he still loved her. She had to acknowledge that in some unthinkable way he not only had the right, but also the responsibility to do this to her.

The tears returned. All she could try to resist them was useless. But she bowed her head and would have clung to him still if he had not stepped away. He instead put his two strong hands on her shoulders. Directing her outside, he made her face the day. He didn’t leave, though he wouldn’t wipe her tears away. She had to let the harsh wind blow the moisture from her face.

Why didn’t she leave? How could he have the right to make her so miserable – willfully? She loved him. That was enough. He could ask anything before God, and she would follow. In humble trust, she would agree. Trust doesn’t have to, often cannot, understand. But real love continues anyway.

To God be all glory.

You Cannot Follow

2007-06-22T01:35:00.000-06:00

What was that? Jesus was going where Peter couldn’t follow? No. Not possible. Peter would die to see His reign established. There may be a glorious battle or a few rebels. If necessary…

They went for a walk. Deny Him? Crazy. Today?

“Pray,” Jesus said. Everything was confusing. It had been a long, busy week. Sleep came. The rest of the evening was a mixture of sleep and nightmare waking.

Swords. Shouts. Torches. Judas. The battle had started! Peter drew the sword Jesus had counseled his followers to buy, and swung. No time to think or aim – Peter had made a promise.

Never yet had Peter been so surprised as when he heard Jesus rebuking him, and witnessed his Teacher healing the enemy. The enemy!

Torches flickered into the distance. Jesus was gone. Silently, Peter followed.

Only one disciple remained with Peter. They trailed the mob to the house of the high priest. At the door, a servant girl challenged him. “You are not one of this man’s disciples, are you?” Peter’s breath caught. “I am not,” he mumbled, and moved quickly towards the fire.

While warming himself, another man confronted Peter. After a quick reply, Peter diverted his eyes and moved to the edge of the firelight.

A man asked him, “Were you with him?”

“No, no.” This wasn’t right. Where was the great battle – the establishment of the King? Old doubts raised by Jesus’ cryptic comments returned. Until the cock crowed, Peter hadn’t realized. This was it. This had been the chance to stand.

A question in his eyes, Peter turned to his Teacher’s face. How many times had he practiced that movement? Never would the memory of that face, that instant, be forgotten.

“You cannot follow. You cannot follow.” The words echoed in Peter’s mind with resounding clarity. It was not so much that the road was blocked as Peter was unable to walk, even crawl, this road Jesus trod.

Failure didn’t come easy for Peter. For the first time he noticed the tears streaming down his cheeks. The nightmare engulfed him. He fled to the black streets.

To God be all glory.

Unspoken Words

2007-06-13T21:14:00.000-06:00

“Hi, Elise!” called Allison. She sat waiting in the college cafeteria. Elise smiled, waved back, and made her way across the room.

Just the night before, Elise’s pastor had given a message about telling friends the gospel. Allison hadn’t been out of her mind since. Did God want her to tell Allison about her faith – the gospel?

How exactly would one tell Allison the gospel? She was popular, smart, and kind of rebellious. The last thing she would accept from a close friend was their views on religion crammed down her contented agnostic throat.

Since Elise’s freshman year of high school, she’d known Allison. They went to school and movies together and the pool in summertime. Elise figured she was a balancing influence on Allison impetuous energy. Until last night, she never thought of the fact that her friend should be way out of balance – totally on God’s side.

But anyone who knew Allison would tell you that she “knows what she wants and almost always gets it.” If she wanted to know what Elise believed, Allison would ask, or rather demand, to be told. Elise was sure of it. Until she asked, maybe Elise would just pray for her…

Chris, Elise’s coveted fiancé, urged her to talk to Allison. In a few short days, Elise would be married and there would be an uncloseable gap in their relationship. “Tell her now,” he suggested during a walk, “before she won’t listen any more.”

Already Allison was withdrawing. Sure, they’d shopped for the wedding dress together (relying on Allison’s amazing good taste) and Allison would be a bridesmaid in the ceremony. Still, there was that gap in experience. That was why Elise picked up the phone to ask her to the movie.

Allison laughed through the movie. Elise cried at the final good-bye. She could never say good-bye like that to Chris. Never!

As they drove home late that night, Elise was preoccupied with plans for her wedding. Mental check: one more bouquet of white roses for decorations. Allison had a calculus exam tomorrow before the dress rehearsal in the evening, and was going over formulas aloud as she drove. There had been no opportunity to talk about serious things.

Now, Allison fell into deep thought. Sometimes moods of reflection came upon her and Elise wondered whether her friend questioned her priorities – whether she was really as happy as she appeared. No, perhaps she was just worried about the test. Studying had never been a priority for her and she was probably pondering the consequences of failing.

Elise had smiled when Allison told her how beautiful she was in her wedding dress, but Elise was sure Allison would show her up as a bridesmaid.

Just ahead, a glaring pair of lights swept over the hill. As they neared each other, the lights swerved. Allison flinched and stomped the brake. The screech of brakes almost drowned out Allison’s screams. There was a big truck and even larger noise. Then silence.

To God be all glory.

Lori's Choice Part 3

2007-06-11T11:42:00.000-06:00

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori's Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.
“Do you know what would go just great with this mountain sunset?” Lori asked her mother casually.

“I wouldn’t mind some ice cream,” mom said.

“M&M’s,” Lori stated. “A whole handful of melt-in-your-mouth-not-in-your-hand chocolate.”

“There’s a convenience store down the street,” Mom suggested. “They’re sure to have candy – and maybe ice cream, too.”

“Or the grocery store around the corner. I might go there. It seems safer, somehow. I could walk.”

By the time Lori had her shoes and purse, the sunset was nearly gone. “Sunsets go fast in Colorado. Oh well, we’ll have some for tomorrow.” She rode the hotel elevator down to the lobby and waved at the concierge as she exited. Outside the air was warm and mellow, just like a vacation should be. Her pace slowed to a saunter.

Thirty minutes later Lori emerged from the corner supermarket with her hands full of ice cream and M&M’s, as well as her purse and the change the cashier had stuffed in her hand right before she shooed her away by ringing up the next customer’s goods. Lori tried to stay under the street lights while she wrestled the cash into the zipper pouch on the outside of her purse. The ice cream in the roll-topped paper bag fell to the ground. She let out an exasperated “Oh!” as she bent to pick it up. A hand clapped over her mouth.

Three hours later Lori was sobbing in a hospital bed, trying to describe her attacker to the police officers sitting near. Her parents were on their way, and all she could imagine was their horrified faces at the news of their daughter’s assault. Nurses buzzed around here and there. They’d done blood work and a quick check for any cuts or bruises. She was bruised on the neck and arms, evidence of the resistance she had given. In between questions, Lori thought wryly that hospitals don’t have many mirrors – for good reason. If she could have seen her face she would have been deciding whether her face was scarlet from shame or red from crying.

Mom and Dad came rushing in while the investigator was still questioning Lori. “What are you asking her?” Dad demanded, full of belated protectiveness for his little girl.

“Did they give you any pills? They didn’t give you any medicine, did they?” Mom asked. “Or make you sign anything?”

“I only gave them my name. I’m all right,” Lori reassured. “They took some blood to do some tests.”

The police shared their piecing of events with her father in low tones in a corner while Mom soothed Lori (and herself) by reading Psalms from the Bible in the bedside table’s drawer. The doctor came about an hour later offering the pill, which Lori vehemently refused. She would almost have thrown the doctor out on the spot if it had not been for her already exhausting day of tourism. He recommended counseling, and said that the blood work results would be available in a few days. During his visit he used many ominous words like HIV, termination, depression, and STD’s. Then he released her.

Back at the hotel Lori told once the exact events coupled with her emotions and thoughts at the time. Her parents nodded in blank shock. Their Lori, the bulwark of purity in every way… They all prayed together for health and wisdom and peace. Lori started when her mom prayed – actually prayed – there would be no child conceived from this assault. Lori didn’t know what to think. Was that the right thing to pray? Did she want to pray for a child? What if no man would ever have her now? Her chances of motherhood would be over. But if she did have a baby this way, well, her life would be altered in a way so noticeable.

Her parents fell asleep, still mumbling prayers from their slouched places on the hotel double beds. She sat in the chair by the window, hugging her knees to her chest. She was wearing her long white nightgown. Feeling feminine and elegant comforted her somehow. And she kept praying. Dawn appeared as a reflection against the hazy west, and for the first time she realized she did not have her M&M’s or ice cream.

At breakfast Lori urged her parents not to cut their vacation short. She was tired, but still eager to see some of the sights. Truth be told, the last thing Lori wanted was to face her friends at home. The concierge caught them before they left the hotel lobby. He said a police officer had dropped off a package for Lori early that morning. Extremely curious, they followed the concierge back to the desk. Inside a small box was a giant bag of plain M&M’s.

Healing Ruth's Mother

2007-06-11T11:32:00.000-06:00

“Simon! Simon!” Andrew ran up to their boat, breathless. “We’ve found him! We have found the Messiah!”

Simon looked at his big brother doubtfully. “I’ve never heard an introduction like that before. Come into the shade. You’ve been in the sun too long. Help me prepare this net.”

“No, no. Put that stuff down. Come on. You have to meet Him.” Andrew took the nets out of Simon’s hand and started dragging him away from the boat. “John, you know, the crazy guy who preaches by the river? He said, ‘Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.’ I heard him. Then there was this man…”
“Look, Andrew. You can go meet this latest messiah, but there is work to be done. Someone has to do it, and it looks like me. I want to go home before midnight. Ruth hasn’t cooked supper in days. She’s been taking care of her mother. I’m hungry. Leave me alone.”

“But Simon, only Messiah can take away sins, right? I mean, God and His Messiah? Don’t you know what that means?”

“Yes, Andrew,” said Simon. “It means that this guy is a revolutionary. The Romans will hate him and he’ll stir up trouble like all the others before him. Eventually they’ll catch him and crucify him for treason. And unless you want to be on the cross next to him…”

“He’s for real, Simon. It won’t hurt to meet Him.”

“Fine. This once, I’ll go.” Simon realized his work would never be done with Andrew pestering him. The oldest brother had always known how to get his way. He shoved the nets aside and stomped angrily down the coast. He was a bit curious. Andrew wasn’t the impulsive one. Usually, Andrew would sit down and think things through. Who was this person who had so affected his brother?

After a long walk, Andrew suddenly stopped. Jesus looked at Simon and said, “You are Simon, the son of Jonah. You shall be called Peter.” Then He smiled a knowing smile at Simon’s confusion. “It has begun,” He thought.

This wasn’t right. Where was the fiery sermon? Where was the rally? How could a guy like this, who didn’t say, “Hi. I’m Jesus. I’ve heard a lot about you,” ever dream of defeating Roman regiments?

Over the next week, Peter and Andrew went back to fishing. But they couldn’t stop talking about Him. James and John, the thundering sons of the patriarch fisherman, Zebedee, listened to Peter and Andrew bounce suggestions around. What if Jesus was for real? What if He wasn’t? The sons of Zebedee gave each other looks and shrugged their shoulders.

After the synagogue meeting on Saturday, Peter was home with his wife. Her mother was doing worse, with a high fever. “Simon, you should ask Him. I heard he cast out an unclean spirit. Maybe he can help her. You talk about Him so much.” Ruth pleaded with Peter to go find Jesus immediately.

“It’s Sabbath. He can’t work on the Sabbath.” Peter looked to his mother-in-law. For all his married life ,she had been like his own mother, living with them and cooking for them. Perhaps he should go now, before it was too late?

A knock sounded on the door. “It’s probably Leah. She was going to bring over some soup.” Peter got up and opened the door, hoping his wife’s chatty friend wouldn’t stay long.

“Peter,” Jesus nodded, and walked in. Ruth came out of the side room to see whose was the unfamiliar voice. The look on her husband’s face told her who it was. “I knew He’d come,” she said to Peter. “Let’s ask.”

He nodded his head an looked at Jesus, who stood just inside the door smiling. “Jesus, you are welcome here. My mother-in-law, though, she’s sick. Could you help her – if it’s not a problem?” Ruth already stood beside the door into her mother’s room. Jesus stood over her, rebuked the fever, and smiled. Color filled the old woman’s cheeks. She got up, reaching behind Peter for a basin. She returned passed her stunned daughter to offer the water for the Guest’s feet. Then, while Peter and Ruth worked through their bewilderment, she brought out bread for the Sabbath meal.

“Ruth, sit down. We all know how much you’ve done the past few days I’ve been ill. Have some bread,” ordered her mother. Ruth wept. Peter still stood stiffly in the corner, his eyes searching for some clue from Jesus. Just like that! Jesus spoke – without even touching her – and she was well. Just like that! A prophet like Elijah of old was spending Sabbath in his house.

Lori's Choice Part 2

2007-06-03T20:30:00.000-06:00

“Marybelle, honestly, you should have been there. We laughed all night. And we had good conversation. That only means we all talked about one of our favorite subjects,” Lori gushed to her friend.

“I had to babysit Sarah. She is sick, and mom was teaching. You know. But don’t tell me you were talking about boys again.” Marybelle teased.

“Well, not boys exactly. More like men. Our men, whoever they are, and how to treat them. And how to find them…” Lori rambled.

“Right. And how your standards should be as high for them as you set for yourself. If you’re willing to save even a kiss until your wedding day, then so should he.” Marybelle imagined what would have been said at the meeting.

“Why is it so hard, though, to maintain mental purity?” Lori asked. Though she liked to speak with wisdom, her heart was full of questions. And even though a lot of people considered her to be impossibly perfect, there were still things she struggled to obey.

“Such as?” Marybelle prodded.

“Ok,” Lori breathed out as though it was being pulled from her. “I was in the hall, and I accidentally ran into Caleb…”

“Accident as in ‘accident’ or a real accident?”

“Marybelle!”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, he’s just Caleb, and there’s nothing really there. But he helped me right myself, and all night I was thinking…”

“Oh, Lori!”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“You don’t have to finish, dear girl. Same song, second verse. Or fortieth.” Marybelle teased.

“Anyway, I just never get over how hard it is,” Lori continued. “Little things set me off. It’s never their fault. Just me. Poor things. If they knew what I was thinking about them.”

“Ok. There you go being superior again, deigning to pity the guys you crush on.”

“Sorry. But on my vacation I’m determined not to think about guys. I’ll just be me, in my family, having a good time.”

“I hope so,” Marybelle smiled into the telephone.

To God be all glory.

Daniel in the Hands of Babylonians

2007-05-30T13:27:00.000-06:00

Smash! The door of the neighbor’s house shattered into a thousand splinters. Soldiers of Babylon’s notorious army had come at last into the city to gather plunder after a long siege. They were drunk with the thrill of victory. After months of privation and fervent prayers of the captive Jerusalemites, the siege had defeated the city. Prophets declared that God was fulfilling His promised judgment on His unfaithful people. Some prophets, that is. Actually, a majority of Daniel’s people had turned to listen to the prophets whose words flattered and provided false hope. Their messages ranged from, “Give allegiance to the gods who will protect you,” and, “The king should seek help from Egypt,” to, “Plead with the Eternal that He would turn from His wrath. Always before, God has delivered His people.” But Daniel had studied at the feet of the old rabbis and the prophets who spoke the word of the LORD. When the Israelites had complained in the desert southwest of Judah, God had judged them. He was merciful and slow to anger, but Judah had deserved this for a long time.

Mama cried in the corner, as every breathing woman in Jerusalem did tonight. The presence of the soldiers meant that their husbands, the last defense, had perished. No time for traditional mourning of sack-cloth and ashes: soon the soldiers would simply kill them all. So Mama knelt in the corner, saying kaddish and gasping out prayers that the remnant would mourn their deaths forever.

If Daniel, a sturdy 15, had known any battle songs, he would have been chanting them. However, the laws and songs of his God were seldom violent. When Daniel studied the law, he saw that every law – even every judgment – was evidence of God’s mercy. Instead, he quoted the most fundamental truth of his faith: “The Lord our God, the Lord, is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” In Daniel’s current mood, it sounded something like a call to rally. Every mother in Judah hoped her son would survive as part of the remnant that would always remain in fulfillment of God’s promises to Abraham and David. Out of such a hope Mama shushed her only remaining son. If he were not so defiant, maybe he would be favored and spared.

Ashpenaz strode into the plundering band of troops, and a hush followed. Keeping a level head amidst such circumstances could mean a promotion. Besides, he had orders from the king. Nebuchadnezzar did not want gold or jewels as much as he wanted converts to witness his kingly prestige. That would show the world that Babylon’s might was in the mind as well as the sword. So the king himself had deployed his highest court official to choose very healthy, extremely teachable young men from each conquered nation.

All the men groaned at the reread of the edict. Ashpenaz was to enter each building, accompanied by his personal guard, first. If and when he found good subjects, nothing should be done in front of them to scar their impression of Babylon’s armies. Once the captive was escorted away, then the sack of the city could continue. At the completion of this sentence, an unstoppable roar resumed.

Next door, Daniel gripped his knife tighter as the noise grew. Fear must not show. The soldiers would be merciless if they thought there would be sport. A doubt crept into his mind, and breached the dam of doubts that now flooded his young thoughts. “Could I run? My life is in ruins. How could the Eternal do this to us, the faithful? To prevent the torment, why not turn the blade on himself?” The door to their own house swung open. An arrogant, unscathed officer strode in. Daniel thrust the doubts aside, replacing them with strategies for his fury.

Daniel stepped one brave, threatening step toward the official. He gave them a defiant look, as though he and his little knife could stand between them and his mother, and prevent them most of all from reaching his temple. They would desecrate it. Ashpenaz smiled Daniel whispered again his creed, expecting his death. Scanning Daniel, Ashpenaz decided the boy looked healthy, had obvious spirit, and the words he was muttering sounded poetic, as only learned men spoke. Yes, a fine example.

“Take him,” he nodded towards Daniel. At first he struggled, but, seeing a glimmer of her faintest hopes, Mama called him down. For a moment, Daniel hesitated, and considered defying Mama. But that would defy his God, all for which he was trying to stand. He would be no better than the soldiers taking him. Nothing and no one was harmed as Daniel was marched through the house, but the moment he passed the threshold, the destruction inside began.

This street boasted the houses of the wealthiest families in Judah, most of them members of the royal clan. Down the road, Ashpenaz selected several more young men: Azariah the nephew of one of the queens, Hananiah a son of a successful wine merchang, and Mishael the only child of a Levite who oversaw temple donations.

The morning arrived, leaving the prisoners shackled, but together, in a tent outside the city. Very few Hebrews were left alive inside the walls. Rumors claimed that their weak king, Jehoiakim, had been captured and would go to Babylon to betray his people as a vassal of the emperor. At least, that was how Daniel and his fellows interpreted the news.

Eventually, as the smoke thinned over Jerusalem, the boys began to share their stories. Before, they had seen each other in the streets, even played together, but now, after on enight, they were new people. What had been was entirely erased. This new life was marked by the events of the previous night.

Hananiah’s older sister had been taken as wife for one of the higher-ranking officers. Mishael spat, because such a marriage was against their law. As a Levite, Mishael was an expert. His father had died a swift death before his eyes, protecting some sacred scroll from defamation. Azariah, the oldest of the group, had been home alone.

Throughout the hours, the four pondered and discussed last night, their current situation, and what to do next. “We should make a resolve,” said Daniel, by far the most passionate in the group, “to keep the Law. We have seen the fruits of disobedience. Since you are the Levite, Mishael, we will ask for your expertise. In memory of our home, our God, and what happened here, we will pray towards this place every day. Mama’s last prayers were that the remnant would not forget. I will remember the prayer of King Solomon, ‘And if they turn back to You with all their heart and soul in the land of their captivity where they were taken, and pray toward the land You gave their fathers, toward the city You have chosen and toward the temple I have built for Your name; then from heaven, Your dwelling place, hear their prayer and their pleas and uphold their cause. And forgive Your people, who have sinned against you.’ Surely the Eternal will remember the prayer of Solomon, even from long ago.” All four of them agreed to uphold the standards of the Law to their deaths, and to pray daily to the One God.

As their trek northward began, whispers told that they were being withdrawn early. Some rumored that the sack of Jerusalem had not been completed. Had God spared them? Then, when they reached Syria, the messages were undeniable: a vassal-king had been set up in Judah, a relative of Jehoachim. They boys’ eyes glimmered as they received the news. Perhaps there were enough fiery young men left to fuel a rebellion.

The ecstasy of the thought dwindled with every step further from their homes. What good would a rebellion do them? While the captives were treated well, the desert sun and weary miles depressed the whole camp. Daniel was also aware that they were passing through relatively hostile territory. Nebuchadnezzar’s armies were hated in many lands.

Babylon was a land hovering just inside their maps. None of the young men knew how long the journey would take; they estimated several months at least. In their Torah, Eden had been near or surrounding Babylon, before the flood of Noah. Nimrod, the great king, had set up his throne near there. Abraham had grown up in Ur, a now desolate city in the in the southeast of the Chaldean empire. Judah’s brethren had been taken decades ago by the Assyrians. Tales told that the Babylonians had extended their empire to include Assyria under the rule of Nabopolassar and his general-son, Nebuchadnezzar. The whole area seemed to be prone to vicious turmoil and violent conquests.

Nebuchadnezzar was famous for many things: his ruthless armies, brilliant strategies, lovely palace, dependence on mysticism, and arrogance not the least. His official, Ashpenaz, followed suit in at least two of those ways. The first was obviously his arrogance. When he walked your way, something about the look in his eyes, or perhaps his gait, made you feel incredibly small. Less obvious at first, but more deadly, were his strategies. In his camp, everything was ordered, clean, and polished. He was strict on behavior, but he let his men have their fun whenever there was a chance. Loyalty and friendship were gained by brilliant tactics. Ashpenaz would make a man feel it was an honor to do some menial task, or that he was merciful to ask only this much. Were it not for Ashpenaz’s own devotion to Nebuchadnezzar, Daniel would have thought he was preparing to supplant him – or his heir.

Strategies were not for soldiers only. Already the captives’ conversion was beginning. They were given new, Babylonian style clothes and haircuts. A bit of a skirmish arose when one of the young men refused to cut his hair, for he had made a Nazarite vow. Despite his protests, Ashpenaz saw that every curly lock was trimmed. Also, Hebrew was forbidden in the camp. In this way, the boys were forced to learn the tongue of the Chaldeans quickly, and they were all much quieter; Ashpenaz had disenabled their ability to organize and communicate a revolt.

As they neared Babylon, the young men were offered dainties and pleasures forbidden by the Law. Daniel and his friends stood resolutely apart from those who gave in, shaking their heads at one who looked to them for guidance. In some ways they had become leaders of the group. More and more as the language became easier, the other boys would come to the four friends with their problems and questions. On the other hand, they were outsiders to the half of the group who gave in to the guards.

“Daniel? Daniel, I would like to speak with you,” called Josiah. His parents had named him that in memory of the faithful king, but Josiah had turned traitor. Inside his tent, Daniel was surprised to hear Josiah’s voice. They had been friends in the other world, in Jerusalem. He saw and felt the pressures Josiah had. Many times, even Daniel thought he would give in himself. Daniel could not be angry with Josiah. Rather, he pitied him.

“Come.” Both boys were in the top five in fluent speech. The other three proficients were also “traitors.” Daniel was a quick learner. “What is it, Josiah?”

“I had to talk. Daniel, this won’t be easy if you resist.”

“It will be impossible if I don’t.”

“We have no hope of returning to our old way of life,” continued Josiah. “Our God did not save us. There is no point in continuing to serve Him.”

“Right and wrong have not changed.”

“Lots of the boys look up to you. They follow your lead. The guards told me that once we get to Babylon – start the real training – there will be punishment for resistance. By your example, the others will be hurt.”

“I won’t change.”

“But don’t you see? That is the point. We will change. The question is how: with pain or without?”

“Then they will have to decide; I cannot give or withhold pain. From what you have said, I think their choice for me will be pain.”

“They are saying that if we cooperate, we get an audience with the king.”

“I don’t care.”

“Daniel, we could ask to return, for the lives of our people!” Josiah pleaded.

“Nebuchadnezzar doesn’t give favors, and if you asked, you would probably get your head chopped off.”

“Yours will be chopped off if you don’t do what they say!”

“If my life matters so little to them, I’ll live it how I like.”

“There is no purpose,” Josiah argued.

“There is every purpose!” For the first time, Daniel raised his voice. “God is still there. Right is still right. If He wants to use me, I want to be ready.”

“Whether He’s there or not, he isn’t powerful enough. I’m on the winning side.”

“For what? To be paraded around like plunder? Some life!”

“Positions are being offered under Ashpenaz in the court of the king for those who finish training best.”

“No, Josiah. I have seen what disobedience to God costs. The sight wasn’t pretty. Jerusalem burned. My family died. Mighty Jerusalem gave herself finally standing for right. If necessary, I will follow.”

Josiah ducked out of the tent. Soldiers called the thoughts now invading his mind ‘doubts.’ But weren’t they convictions? For once, he saw everything from Daniel’s perspective: Josiah was a traitor, God was just, and Jerusalem was noble even though she had been wrong. And this perspective would not be shaken off.

After Josiah had returned to the other side of the camp, Daniel knelt. The effort of the debate had drained him. Scarcely 16, his fists flew like a boy, and the passion that drove him was the same fire from his boyhood, but something was different – in the way he looked at life and the way he addressed his God. Through either the tragic captivity or some natural process of growing up, God had become personal to him. Daniel turned back towards Jerusalem. “Have mercy on Your people…” he began.

A little later, Daniel and Hananiah made their rounds of the camp, encouraging their side to remain true. As they neared the unmarked line between their sides, they heard a raucous in one of the tents. Technically, they weren’t supposed to cross the line, but who would know? Daniel movied in closer to hear. The Babylonian words he picked up he recognized as curses, but as of yet, their group hadn’t interpreted the meaning. None of them were brave enough to ask.

Hananiah was ever the most mischievous. He could manipulate his voice to sound like almost anything. After listening for a while, he pulled up a weed, set it on his head, and marched to the front of the tent. “What on earth?” thought Daniel. Then, putting on his gruffest imitation of Ashpenaz’s voice, thickly laden with a Babylonian accent, Hananiah demanded to know what was going on. The soldiers snapped to attention inside the tent, silenced by their commander.

Daniel watched the scene from behind a crate. This stack had been lugged there by Daniel and a few of the strongest faithful that afternoon. He laughed. The silhouette shadowed on the pale goat-skin tent looked exactly like Ashpenaz in his officer’s cap. The ear-to-ear grin on Hananiah’s face was not noticeable in the shadow. If Hananiah was caught with that ridiculous clump of weeds on his head, he’d be done for.

“We were just persuading a captive not to defect back to the other side, sir.” Despite their fear of the officer, the soldiers believed he would understand the fun.

Continuing the charade, Hananiah tried to conceal the concern he felt, “Yes? Which one? Is he hurt?”

“Yes, sir. Josiah, sir. We sent him on a debate mission as you ordered, but it had the opposite effect. He said, when he came to me, he said that no matter what we offered, he wanted back into the other side of the camp. So I told him there’s no going back. But he picked up his things and walked out, so we dragged him back. He gave us a struggle, but we won quickly enough, sir.” As if to punctuate the actual meaning, Josiah moaned from the corner. Daniel flinched. By your example, others will be hurt. Others? Even Josiah? It had started with him.

“Our policy is not force!” snapped Hananiah, half enjoying the game, half angry. “Let him go back if he chooses. Offer gifts, honors, and ease, but no threats! That is not your job.” How often did Hananiah sneak over to spy out their policies, Daniel wondered. But Hananiah had made a mistake; the soldiers were letting Josiah go, and leaving the tent themselves. Hananiah looked around like a cornered jackal.

“Hey, what?” the first soldier looked confused. The shadow had dwindled to an ornery boy, weed tipped over atop his head. “Where is Ashpenaz?” they demanded. Lying wasn’t allowed.

“He isn’t here. He had business to attend to.” Hananiah returned to halting Babylonian. “Excuse me.” Hananiah scurried away, back to his tent.

Daniel was forced to remain in his hiding place until the guards were gone. While he waited, he listened to the defeated sobs and occasional moans from Josiah. Was doing right really worth the cost? What if everyone suffered like this? But amidst the sobs, Daniel thought he faintly caught the words, “Love the LORD your God…” That passage was sung over cradles, cheered at feasts, quoted on Sabbath, cried in battle, and wept at death. Which was it now?

A Memorial Day Tribute

2007-05-27T14:45:00.000-06:00

Today, I am supposed to remember – remember the sacrifice men gave to keep me free. But most of these heroes are numbers: a few names, still fewer stories. What are the stories of those who really fought, not for honor or reward, but for love of family, friend, and neighbor? Those whose stories are told did the exceptionally great, were given one great choice – a chance to be remembered forever. Because their stories bring greatness, they are so much less.

The report was in: America was going to war. All was excitement for the young man and his brother. It was entertainment – far away and unreal. Mother stopped still several months later. She couldn’t breathe or talk or move. Fear forced tears into her eyes. And memories came back. Memories of losing her own father screamed at her. She walked over and dropped the notice, a draft notice, in the lap of her scarcely eighteen year old son. She had made her choice.

Matthew picked up the notice and opened it. He sighed as he read the details. Childish excitement was left behind. Standing, he reached to comfort his mother, and reached for his life which was racing away from his grasp even as the reality of war drew nearer.

The following day he waited in line with many others his age. He couldn’t keep the fear from his voice as he answered the enlistment officer’s questions. The form was filled out. With his signature he sealed his doom, whatever that may be.

Orders came for his assignment and training within the week. A tearful farewell was given. His father and brother were proud, his mother terrified and sad, and Matt was already lonely, his spirit oppressed by the uncertainty of his future.

He reported as ordered and trained well. Full effort was put into doing his best. All he had, he devoted to his task.

Every decision brought him nearer to death, yet at any one of them he could have turned back. Soon, Matt was out on the high seas, manning a lookout post for on his ship. Other sailors seemed confident that they would see their families again. Some didn’t care; they’d rather not see them again regardless. Matt served on board, sacrificing time that could now never be spent with those he loved.

The young soldier survived many battles and hope crept into his heart. Friends were wounded, and acquaintances killed, but Matt went on. Hope could be dangerous in war. Hopelessness could be fatal.

His captain informed the men of the next attack. It would be an important encounter in the Navy’s strategy. If they failed this mission, home could be a thing of the past. Matt remembered the people of home, almost a sacred word now. Men spoke it in whispers. His work was for them. He cared enough for those at home to do anything in order to keep them safe.

All men took their positions. Matt passed a door. This door led to a corridor and, more importantly, to a small, secret room where he could sit out the battle unnoticed. A chance to be safe! He walked past the door, faithful to his responsibilities.

The fighting began. A bullet whizzed past his head, slamming into his friend. His friend perished. Matt looked one grief-stricken moment at his comrade lying defeated on the deck. As an explosion in the water rocked the ship, Matt looked around, resumed firing, and spoke aloud the names of those on his ship whom he remembered. None of them paid any attention to him, but he continued.

A bomb split the ship at last, and sent the entire crew to their grave. No one would tell their story. No one knew it. They died the way they lived, not sure. Not sure of who would win, of whether their deaths meant anything. Hundreds of men were buried in the sea by an enemy who couldn’t even see the faces – an enemy who wouldn’t pay for his crime. These men weren’t given one great, definite choice; they made many little decisions, and ultimately, they chose to be brave.

Word came home of the deaths. Only names. No record of noble last moments or bravery or daring conquests. Families grieved. Then they chose. They chose to remember.

To be honest, I don’t know their stories or their names. Some died willingly, some reluctantly. Without their sacrifice the life I know could not exist. The real heroes we celebrate are those whose deeds were no less honorable because they were unknown. Those who were unable to receive glory for their choices gave us cause to spend a long weekend with the truly valuable, and to pause to remember.

To God be all glory.

Titleless Poem (like Emily Dickinson's)

2007-05-26T14:40:00.000-06:00

(by Michael)

There once was an old man,
Tender and grey,
Who looked out his window
One cold winter’s day,

His old eyes were open
Not looking around.
Beside his squeaky rocking chair
Nothing made a sound,

As he sat there rocking,
He remembered days gone by.
Suddenly the rocking stopped
And a tear formed in his eye.

The old man’s face grew tired
As he remembered his past pain.
The feelings from that awful day,
Like an old knife wound they came.

As the tear ran slowly down
The tired man’s dear face
He remembered her love and tenderness
And the warmth of her embrace.

Once he had started rocking again
He asked, “God why did she leave?
Am I to live in agony
Only living to grieve?”

After asking his heart felt question
His tears swelled up once more,
And as he dosed off his glasses
Dropped silently on the floor.

While he slept he dreamt of things
He never thought in this life he’d see.
He saw her face and held her close.
He was a bundle of jubilee.

Laughing a laugh the likes of which
His body had never known,
In his dreams and in her arms
He felt like he was home.

The man’s cat came up purring
Awaking him from sleep.
When the man realized where he was,
It made him begin to weep,

Now a cry of anguish
From losing her again
Filled his little, drafty house
With the sound of immense pain.

How could he bear it,
With dreams such as that,
Who had awakened him?
Oh, that stupid cat.

Had he been close to dying
Was he really almost home
Only to return, to his lonely life
With all the pain which it had known?

With a bitter heart he sat there
Wishing it were not so.
Why was she the one taken
Could he not also go?

With these thoughts he fell yet again
Into an uneasy sleep,
But the dream he dreamt this time ‘round
Was truly an occasion to weep.

For all around him were thousands
Wailing and shouting in pain.
The sound was the same as that
Which from himself once came.

But there was no end to their weeping.
No silence was ever found.
In his dream he found himself weeping
As he fell to the cold hard ground.

When suddenly he looked up
And there before his eyes
The darkness broke, the wailing ceased,
As he beheld the blazing skies.

From within the fiery sight
A figure familiar and strong
Held out its hand and helped him up
While singing a strange new song.

What a song, a wild, beautiful song,
The sweetest ever heard,
And as it faded, and the brightness waned,
He softly heard these words,

“Son, why do you grieve?
When so long ago
I chose the time
For her to go.

She is with me.
I’ll never leave you.
I’ve told you as much,
And I know you knew.

My child, do not greive.
Your time has been set,
But it cannot be now.
Trust me, not yet.”

And as he awoke
Before dreaming more
Two Jehovah’s Witness’
Approached his old wooden door.

Looking toward heaven
He whispered now silently,
“Ah, yes, dear Lord,
I think… yes, now I think I see.”

Lori's Choice Part I

2007-05-21T22:52:00.000-06:00

The following is the first part in a story containing some subjects that may require it to be reviewed by parents before children read it.

“And Mom said, ‘Hon, maybe you should consider your standards are too high.’ Can you believe it? As if I would think of him!” Janelle finished her story to the girls in her small group. They all laughed, then drifted into thoughtful silence.

Jenny first broke the silence by asking, “Is it possible for standards to be too high? I mean, as long as we don’t count on the man being perfect?”

“I hear you. And in some areas better go with high standards than settle. I know people who have settled. They’re so sad,” Rebekah’s soft eyes were big with compassion.

“A strong marriage is a beautiful thing. God can redeem any marriage, however mixed up it was to start. But there’s no use demanding God clean up your messes,” said Lori. She wasn’t the leader of the group. There was no leader, per se. But the group was a result of her initiative. And her quiet spirit encouraged them to listen to her when she spoke.

“There will always be consequences,” Jenny agreed.

“I’m grateful for so many good examples in our church,” added Lori.

“Don’t you worry about the younger generation, though?” Rebekah asked.

“You mean us?” Janelle tended to laugh a lot. She also made a joke of almost everything.

Rebekah disagreed quietly. “I was thinking more the kids in elementary grades and junior high and high school. I figure for us it’s too late to worry!”

“No, we’re just the remnant that didn’t already throw holiness to the wind,” said Jenny sarcastically.

“You make it sound like one choice did them in forever. Don’t forget how big God’s grace has been in each of our lives. The same grace that in some cases preserves, in other cases redeems,” Lori sounded like a teacher.

“Lori, you’re so better-than-thou. It sounds weird to hear you defending the apostates,” criticized Janelle.

“I know you’re not serious, so I won’t take that as an insult,” Lori said with an air.

“Wow. We talk a lot for a group that has sworn off gossip,” said Jenny.

Rebekah wondered aloud, “Do you ever think the more things we ‘swear off’, the more distant we are from the world? How will we ever reach them?”

“I’m still flesh and blood.” Janelle pinched her lower arm, where the sun-tanned flesh was visible after a ¾ length sleeve.

“Still as prone to temptation,” agreed Jenny, who had been struggling with several things she was under conviction about.

“Like pride,” Lori put in. “Like supposing it isn’t God who enables us to resist temptation. Like ignoring the people who are in most need of God.”

“Are you gonna quote the ‘come to save sick’ verse again, Lori?” Janelle protested.

“I won’t if you can,” challenged Lori. “Never mind. We ought to take prayer requests so we can go home.”

As the meeting finally dismissed, Lori hailed the children’s pastor down the hall, “Pastor Greg! Have you seen Mrs. Roberts? I need to talk to her about teaching Sunday school for me while I’m on vacation.”

“When are you going to be gone?” the pastor asked.

“In two weeks. My family is going to Denver for a getaway. I’m so excited.”

“Be sure to send postcards.” Lori smiled. “I’ll pick one for each of my Sunday school students.”

“Mrs. Roberts was downstairs picking up Abigail from class.”

“Thanks, Pastor Greg,” Lori waved at his retreating stride, herself facing backwards. “Oomph.” The air left her with a thud as she ran into someone. “Whoops,” she said in a high-pitched, very embarrassed voice. Looking up at the strong face staring down at her, she became even more nervous. “Sorry, Caleb.” He steadied her with a farmer’s hand, smiled at her even higher-pitched apology, and walked away.

To God be all glory.

Abigail

2007-05-19T11:47:00.000-06:00

Abigail sat under a lonely tree at her home in the desert near Carmel. Her stack of scrolls that she was supposed to study lay, unopened, a few feet away. She simply could not focus today. King Saul was away at battle – her two brothers and father with him. Rumors had reported that the Philistines held the upper hand with their unchallenged giant from Gath.

“Giant?” she had questioned. “There are no more giants. They all died with the rest of the Anakim.” That’s what her father said, at least. All accounts seemed to agree, though, that a man nearly as tall as the tree she sat under had the whole Israelite army terrified. Maybe her father was wrong.

That was all quite far away, though. Abigail had to worry about her studies and chores. “It isn’t fair,” she though, “I’m the only girl in the whole Maon region that has to study. Even all the boys, the usual victims of schooling, get a break for the excitement of far away places and legendary giants. Why am I stuck with boring scrolls and chores?”

There was no time to ponder this question; however, because just then her mother called up the hill, “Abigail! Chores!”

Abigail was no ordinary girl. Ever since she was little, it had been evident that she was beautiful, and not only that – she was smart, too. She had long, dark curls that flowed down her back and big, blue eyes that twinkled in the morning sunlight. Born during the rule of Samuel, the last judge, she didn’t seem to fit in with the evil society that was rampant in Israel. She longed for times of glory such as she read about: with Moses and Pharaoh in Egypt.

The house of Abigail’s father was one of the few that had remained faithful to Jehovah, the God of her people. Now, in their desire to become more like the nations around them, the people had chosen a king. At first, he had seemed perfect: tall, handsome, and a strong leader. But when faced with real danger, Saul had proved a coward greatly lacking in faith.

As unusual as it seemed to all of her friends, Abigail’s father had decided that she, too, must study and become wise in the fear of the Lord. “She will make some man a wonderful wife someday,” he said, but that was just what Abigail was afraid of.

When the floor was swept, she took the laundry down to the little brook to wash. She had this terrible sense of foreboding that something, something was happening. Abigail glanced at all of the surrounding hills worriedly. No, it was safe; no raiders were coming, and no messengers had yet appeared over the horizon.

The setting sun cast long shadows all around as Abigail made her way back to the little house where dinner was waiting. The harsh desert wind blew strong in her face. She looked up just in time to see a cloud of dust rolling toward her. There was no more time for thinking. Abigail lifted up her long skirt and bolted for the house. “Dust storm, Mama!” she called, slamming the door behind her. Her mama appeared around the corner, tying on a scarf. “I’m going to get the goats in the barn. You cover the windows.” Mama was always calm. Abigail would rather scream and hide in her room.

After the windows were shut, Abigail sat down at the dinner table. Her sense of foreboding was not gone, but now, at least, she was hopeful. Mama came in, took off her scarf, smoothed back her hair, and dipped her hands in the wash-bowl. They both bowed their heads in silent prayer, pleading for the safe return of their family and thanking the Almighty for the day’s bread.

The desert wind blew so hard, it shook the house so it rattled, but Abigail thought she heard a faint knock on the front door. The three men didn’t wait for the door to open, but burst in quickly. Abigail’s brothers together picked her up and danced and sang around the little room. Her father laughed merrily and his eyes shone.

Later, the two bewildered women got the rest of the family to sit down and tell them what happened.

“We all thought it was just going to be another uneventful day,” Abigail’s father reported. “There had been no word from King Saul, so we all sat down to talk. Maybe there was an extra bit of noise in the next tent, but none of us thought anything of it. Suddenly, the battle trumpets blew. We all sprang up to collect our helmets and swords, then ran out to the lines.

“The giant – yes, he was a real giant – stomped down into the valley between our camps. ‘Where’s he going?’ we all wondered. Just then, a short little boy ran down from our camp yelling and swinging his slingshot. All of us men lined up were asking ourselves what on earth that kid was doing. After all, he was only a little older than you, Abigail.

“Well, the giant took one look at him (turns out his name is David) and roared with laughter. He had barely gotten ten words out, though, when the stone hit him right between the eyes. Speaking of eyes, none of us men could believe our own. That big man: helmet, sword, and all, fell straight to the ground so hard that the little kid running towards him nearly fell over.

“What do you think David did next? He grabbed that big Philistine’s sword and hefting it with both hands, dropped it right down on the giant’s neck!” Abigail closed her eyes and shuddered, trying to block out the gruesome image. “We rushed the Philistines and defeated them with David at the head and King Saul at the rear.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Mama. “Saul has his thousands, but David his ten-thousands!”

“That isn’t all, either,” declared Joshua, smiling at his big brother. “David and Saul are coming through here – this very town – on their way home!”

“What a day you’ve had! Thank the Lord you are safe! Praise Him for sending a little boy to give you victory and teach King Saul a lesson! But you have come a long way. Go to bed, all of you. Get some sleep!”

As Abigail slipped into bed, she silently disagreed with her parents. David was not little if he was older than her; she certainly wasn’t little. She thanked God, all the same, for bringing her father and brothers safely home.

“Wake up, Sunshine!” called her father early the next morning. “David will be here soon!” Abigail rolled over and groaned. The sun wasn’t even up yet! Neither was “Sunshine.” She dressed quickly, though, and right after a quick breakfast, she received the order to “Go pick some flowers!” Fearing to miss David and Saul’s visit, Abigail wasted no time.

Soon, the whole town was out along the main road, dancing, singing, and chanting, “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands.” When King Saul, Abner (the commander of the army), Prince Jonathan, and David approached, music played and flowers flew. Saul did not look up or smile, but just glowered back at David.

After they had passed, and the crowd was thinning, Nabal, the son of a rich, proud man from the country, made his way to Abigail’s father. “A job well done,” he commended the soldiers as if it was his right. (Nabal and his father had not gone to fight, but had sent servants in their places.) “I wanted to speak with you, now that you’re back,” he stated, turning towards Abigail’s father and glancing her way.

As he took her father’s arm and stepped away, Abigail felt her stomach tighten and her head grow light. She knew her parents approved of Nabal and his money, but something in that glance made her cringe.

“Steady, Abigail,” said Joshua, putting out his arm to catch her fall. “A little too much excitement, maybe?” Seeing the look on her face, he changed his mind. With one, meaningful look, he seemed to say, “I understand. Don’t worry. Let’s just get you home.”

Ever since they were little, Abigail and Joshua had been close. They seemed to be on the same caravan of thought. Although Joshua was sometimes a pain and Abigail had seen less of him recently, they always listened to and understood each other. That’s why, right then, on the walk home, Joshua also felt a twinge of fear.

In some of their talks, Joshua and Abigail had agreed that Nabal was an arrogant manipulator with only his own self to care about and look after. He was definitely not their favorite person. Now, Joshua was sure, Nabal would get his way.

“Any better?” he asked. The look on her face said no. “Are you sure that’s what he wanted?”

“What else would he want from Father?” she threw back. “And you know him: always getting what he wants. But… Joshua, I-I couldn’t stand it. What shall I do?”

“You could be very rude to him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to marry someone who would make his life miserable.”
“Brilliant. Then not only he, but also everyone else would hate me. That’s wrong. Besides, by then it would be too late. It is probably too late already.” Abigail objected.

“Maybe you could run away. Go… to Egypt? The Philistine camps?” She frowned. “I know, King Saul’s palace.”

“By appointment only,” she quoted the king’s decree. “Just give up. There isn’t any other way.”

“But you’d be miserable.”

“I’d have plenty of money.” Abigail seemed to end the conversation. Maybe she was just imagining it.

“Morning!” Mama’s voice betrayed her excitement. “Your father went out early. He should be back soon.” If Mama said one more word…

“I have chores. I’ll be back for lunch,” Abigail called, leaving the house with an armload of laundry brought home from the battle.

Down at the creek, she met Miriam. Their brothers were talking a ways off. Neither girl said anything as Abigail set to work. After a while, she noticed Miriam was watching her. “Anything wrong?” asked Abigail.

“I thought you would tell me. Everyone in town is talking. You see, Nabal told the Levite who will be performing the ceremony, and he told his sons who told my brothers who told me. I think that is what they’re talking about over there. At least they were. You are so lucky!” Miriam could talk sheep up a mountain. “Well, aren’t you excited?”

“Excited? No. Nervous? Yes.” Answered Abigail. It seemed like a reasonable reply. She hoped Miriam wouldn’t ask any more questions. The tears were already threatening to burst out. But she had no such luck.

“Understandable. Mama says every bride gets nervous. How did you accomplish such a thing?” Miriam had pushed it too far.

“Accomplish such a thing?” Abigail burst out crying and screaming. “Accomplish? Me? I didn’t accomplish anything! Just because Nabal is a descendant of Caleb and has lots of money, he thinks he can do whatever he wants.” By now Joshua and Miriam’s brother were there, trying to calm Abigail down. “Now he decided that what he wants is to ruin my life. No problem.” She broke into sobs.

“Umm,” said Joshua, “I think we’ll take a walk.” Then to Abigail, “Come on; it’s going to be ok. You hear Mama and Father talking last night, too?” It wasn’t a question. He already knew. “When Father comes back, you’re going to have to try to be happy and surprised. Do you want to practice?” His forced smile was so terrible; she couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s better,” he laughed. “Since we can’t change it, we might as well laugh at it.”

Joshua and Miriam helped Abigail with the laundry. Everything Joshua folded looked like someone sat on it, but it made Abigail laugh. Abigail carried the pile home. She laughed, talked, and smiled all the way. Joshua seemed to have the magic touch.

Abigail’s father was home for dinner, but he didn’t seem excited or anything. All evening, Abigail watched him, looking for some sign, but it didn’t help. Finally, the time came to go to bed. “See you with the sunrise, Sunshine!” her father called. Everything was the same.

She lay awake in bed, too worried to sleep. Soon, she could hear quiet whispers in her parents’ room. “That’s wonderful,” her mother said. “When shall we tell her?”

“Shhh. You’ll wake them. We will tell her tomorrow after it has been finalized with his father and the elders.”

“She will be so happy. I can hardly wait.”

“I hope so,” came her father’s reply. Abigail didn’t sleep all night.

“Sunshine, I have some news for you,” started her father. Joshua watched her closely from the corner, praying. “You and Nabal the Calebite are to be married!”

No one in such circumstances could have been a better actress. Abigail was excited and eager, her father confident and pleased, her mother joyfully wistful, and her oldest brother calmly happy. Joshua sat apart, still in his corner, looking relieved and laughing at his wild, beloved sister.

In a few months, after making a new dress and informing all of the family, everything was finally ready. Abigail was excited. Maybe he would be better once she got to know him. When everything around her was rejoicing, it was hard not to be happy. Only Joshua looked distressed, but he tried to be cheerful around her. She needed it, even if he was the only one who knew that.

When the evening of the ceremony came, Joshua thought she nearly glowed. Nabal actually smiled at her. Joshua toasted their happiness with all his heart, danced as little as possible, and left for home.

The quiet walk away from the party was almost a relief. Joshua prayed as he walked that God would make her happy and give her the chance to show the greatness and beauty she was born with. His heart told him she would stand out.

Years passed and Nabal’s wealth grew. His home in Maon was one of the finest in Israel or Judah. When his father died, he left him all of his property, including one thousand goats and three thousand sheep. Nabal did not change his ways, however, and he became surly and mean in all his dealings.

To everyone but Joshua, Abigail appeared happy. She hosted banquets and parties without limit. Abigail also grew in beauty and intelligence, often counseling Nabal in the difficulties of the day.

This morning, the event being discussed by everyone from elders to servants was the death of Samuel. She had felt a strange love for the wise old man, and she went with Nabal to mourn his death. David was there in the company of his mighty men, looking very distressed, much older than when she had seen him before. He and Samuel had been close friends.

Soon after their return home, the announcement was made that David and his men, who had protected their borders for some time, were coming to live in Maon. He had been in and out of the gossip often in the years since his victory over Goliath, but Abigail had not seen him before the funeral service since the victory parade.

Nabal began, soon after, the busy task of shearing his many sheep. One morning, a few days into the task, Abigail awoke with a sense of foreboding. She passed it off as worry over the selling price of wool. Abigail went down to visit her mother and spent the better part of the day with her. When Abigail returned, however, the foreboding was stronger, so she asked a servant about the events of the day.

“Yes, Miss Abigail, something rather strange did happen today. David sent messengers from the desert to give our master his greetings, but Nabal hurled insults at them. Yet these men were very good to us. They did not mistreat us, and the whole time we were out in the pastures near them, nothing was missing. Night and day they were a wall around us all the time we were herding our sheep. Now think it over and see what you can do, because disaster is hanging over our master and his whole household. He is such a wicked man that no one can talk to him.”

Though Abigail knew her servant was right, she scolded him for his disrespect. After he had gone, she sighed, wondering what to do. When Nabal was angry, it was true: no one could talk to him. So, without speaking to him, she gathered a great supply of fine food from her pantry and sent it with her personal servants to David. Then she quickly changed into a fresh dress and followed them on her donkey.

She reached David’s men in a narrow mountain ravine. They were armed and headed for a night raid on Nabal’s home. “Stop! Who are you?” they demanded, drawing their swords. “What brings you here?” Her thoughts at that moment almost made her laugh. She realized that she had rather expected them to be raising slings and loading them with rocks.

When Abigail had picked out David from among the troops, she dismounted, stepped forward into the light of his torches, and bowed before David with her face to the ground. For a breathless moment she wondered if they would even listen to her, a stray woman in the wilderness at night.

David was a just man. He heard her story and accepted her gift. Nabal was forgiven, and all David’s men praised her bravery. Then the famous warrior told her to go home in peace. Abigail and her servants rode home quietly and without fear.

She rejoiced in David’s kindness. Through her years with Nabal, she had come to doubt whether anyone was good, or if all men, deep inside, were like Nabal. This had hardened her and made her almost bitter, but David’s mercy had begun to soften her heart.

With this newfound hope, Abigail thought she could face anything – almost anything, that is. Returning home, she found Nabal in the middle of a drunken banquet. Disgusted, she left the dining room and fled for privacy.

The bright desert sun shone through the window onto the bed. Nabal groaned and pressed his eyes tighter shut. What a headache! Presently, he heard Abigail’s sweet voice singing and her footsteps flitting around the room.

He opened one eye, then another. What happened to his room? It was so clean and, “Ouch!” so bright. Abigail seemed happy like he’d never seen her before.

“You’re awake,” she declared,” but are you sober?” Abigail smiled reproachfully. “Drinking all night again?” she teased. Nabal wondered what was going on. Abigail was always angry when he got drunk.

“What happened to you?” he questioned. The calm little Abigail suddenly disappeared.

“I saved your life; that’s what!” she yelled. Nabal looked confused. He couldn’t remember anything life-threatening that had taken place. Abigail went on, telling the story from the beginning. “You risked all of us by your – your arrogance! What were you thinking?” She asked, but she was never to receive a reply.

Nabal’s heart failed him at that moment, but he was still alive. Abigail’s parents came to help, but she sat with him all day long. Joshua didn’t come.

Those were the worst ten days of her life. Abigail feared Nabal would continue like this forever, trapping her in a marriage that meant nothing. Would the elders and priests take pity on her and let her leave Nabal to his miserable fate? Gifts were sent from neighbors. Rumors were started. Nabal? He just lay there, not doing anything.

Her fears were finally ended when after ten days Nabal finally died. Abigail went into mourning. A faint, unheard sigh went through the land as the news spread. “Nabal the Calebite has passed away. Not to speak ill of the dead…” So it went.

When the news reached David, he sent his condolences. A startling message was sent along with his sympathy, though. He asked Nabal’s widow to marry him! Abigail was amazed and thrilled to the depths of her soul. Could she have made such an impression in so short a time? She knew she had stuttered, terrified for her life and the lives of her servants when she met David. Yet this – he wanted to marry her?

After the days of mourning, Abigail put up her hair, dressed in her favorite dress, and with five of her maids, rode out to meet David. She left a steward in charge of Nabal’s land and property.

Joshua appeared for her wedding with David, smiling happily. Abigail truly shone this time – and continued to shine for the rest of her life. When she gave birth to their son, Daniel; when David was crowned king; and when the Ark of the Covenant returned to its rightful place, Abigail was there, smiling adoringly at David.

“God blessed Abigail. She was born for such greatness,” thought Joshua. “Now she is the queen of the greatest nation on earth!” He recorded this and many other stories of the first kings of Israel. Joshua became David’s chief historian, who carefully left a record of Israel for all people, for all time.

To God be all glory.

Becca's Story

2007-05-19T11:42:00.000-06:00

Becca sat in church for the first time in her life. She was feeling very uncomfortable. The pastor – she assumed he was the pastor as one of the only men in a suit – knelt, his forehead resting against his folded hands, near the front of the church. Was he praying? The couple in the row behind her whispered. Were they talking about her? She shifted self-consciously and scanned the paper in her hands. What would you call it: a bulletin, or a program, or just a flyer?

“Glad to see you, Becca.” Nathan, the friend who had invited her to come today, was dressed better than she had ever seen him. He smiled and conversed with her as though her presence at a church service was a weekly occurrence. Becca thought back to a day near the beginning of the school year.

“Hey! David!” she remembered Nathan yelling to his best friend. “I want to talk to you. I was up all night.”

“Man, you’re gonna flunk the algebra exam. Are you crazy?” David laughed.

“I was praying,” Nathan stated, as if that explained everything. He took a deep breath. “I need to tell you about how God changed my life – how He can change your life…”

Two guitarists began to play. Another man in a looser suit, the worship leader, invited everyone to stand and clap. As Becca caught the beat, she looked over and saw Cassie singing and smiling at her. Cassie didn’t go to Becca’s school. Her family began homeschooling when Cassie entered junior high. Becca still saw her around sometimes, like once in the mall.

Cassie balanced an ice cream cone in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. Her step was light and joyful coming out of the food court. A group of kids from school recognized her and began to tease her about being too good for them: a mommy’s girl. To Becca’s surprise, Cassie knelt right there in the middle of the mall and quoted, “Be still and know that I am God.”

“God,” the preacher prayed, “help our hearts to be open to receive Your Word this morning. I thank You for blessing us with the ability to give…” After the prayer, Joe sang a solo about the wonders of God while offering plates were passed around. Joe had always been into the arts.

“You can’t submit that painting,” said John, obviously disappointed. “What about the eagle painting instead?”

“I want to send a message,” answered Joe. “This is my favorite. It reminds me of Mom praying for me.”

Becca ran up. “Oh, are you entering a painting in the contest? Let me see.” Joe eagerly held up his canvas, and Becca knew why his friend was concerned. The picture was of a woman kneeling, bowing, weeping at the feet of three scenes. On the left was a first-century teacher sitting on a chair, using gestures to communicate his message. The second figure was apalling. A man, bruised and bloodied, hung by his wrists, which were nailed to a rough wooden cross. Quickly, she turned to the third figure. Joe’s inspired brush had painted a glorious king on a high yet somehow approachable throne. All three figures looked down on the woman with intensely compassionate eyes.

Becca sat, holding a hymnal filled with strange words and unfamiliar tunes. What did “interposed His precious blood” mean, anyway? What was so important that made these people so different? What were they singing about? She listened to the voices around her blend in harmony. Jenny sat with her sister and a group of youth a few rows ahead. One day with Emily, Jenny’s younger sister, Becca had listened in on Jenny’s phone call.

Jenny came home from school, dropped her backpack, and picked up the phone. As she caught her breath, she waited for her friend to pick up. “Hi. Amy? Are you doing anything tonight?” Becca was curious which movie Jenny wanted to see with her friend. “Can you come over? Yeah, I wondered if you would pray with me about some things I’m struggling with.” Becca and Emily hung up the phone in stunned silence.

The sermon was about a shepherd searching for one lost sheep. “Strange,” Becca thought, “Why doesn’t he talk about something we can understand, like looking for the lost keys to my SUV?” Pastor Jacobs described the unconditional love of the shepherd, who gives everything to save one lost lamb. He explained that “everything” included giving even his own life. “Die?” thought Becca in horror. “How could anyone die to save a lamb that ran away? Surely he has other, more obedient sheep.”

The pastor continued by comparing the shepherd to Jesus. He described the terrible way Jesus died, and Joe’s picture came vividly back to mind. “Jesus died for one lost, lonely person,” the pastor said.

While the choir sang an invitation, the emptiness that had invaded her whole life turned into a longing for something. Becca wanted to know this love. She was so focused on the turmoil in her spirit that she barely realized she was walking to the front of the church. All she could think was, “I want what my friends have.”

To God be all glory.

Inaugural

2007-05-19T11:27:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time there was a special tribe of people. Some people have travel in their blood, and must go back to the sea, or buy a plain ticket, or move to the next town. Others have fits of inspiration to paint beautiful scenes. A few blessed people grace the world with their music. And there is this tribe, who like them gets inspired to write. The God-imitating act of creativity flows through their pen and won't stop for food or sleep until every word of the imagination is captured on the page. The result is most often a short window of a story. These are too short and incomplete to publish as books. Books are written by this tribe, but first there must be practice and feedback, refining of skill. When involved in creativity, there are wild offshoots, untamed and unpreventable, that must be expressed while the big work like composition of a book goes on. Offshoots too large for magazine publication, and too meaningful to leave unpublished are thus to be found in thick folders and well-used journals, read at times to an interested friend or reread by a discouraged or sentimental author. This blog, where I and my like-quandried friends can post these windows, enables us to share these gifts with the world, to inspire, instruct, and delight you.

Whether they be fantasy, fiction, historical fiction, dramatization of life, or even a mystery, here they will be welcome, in whole or in chapters. You may read each chapter as it arrives, all in a genre, all by an author, or whatever title catches your attention. Use the sidebar links to navigate. Don't forget to comment! Authors need feedback, especially constructive feedback, on their work!

To God be all glory, Lisse.